


a little closer to home

by Ianthine



Series: say hi to the jeffersons [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Teacher/Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6398371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ianthine/pseuds/Ianthine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas gets used to being in love again. James gets used to being in love with Thomas. They make it work.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5774929">life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness</a>, aka That One Parent/Teacher AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little closer to home

**Author's Note:**

> Like the summary says, this is a sequel to That Other Fic and doesn't make much sense unless you read that first.
> 
> This was meant to be a short coda. As you can tell, that is not what happened. One of these days I'll write something proper, but until then, have way too many words of established relationship fluff and feelings and Jefferson being an ass. Now with more not-so-sneaky references!

So maybe Thomas had been a bit overzealous about making sure neither of his daughters thought he'd neglect them now that he was seeing someone. To the point where he'd — on multiple occasions — found himself being snapped at to stop hovering over them and to "go bother Mr Madison" instead. If he had permission like that, he was going to take full advantage of it.

For the last few weeks, he and James had been in _that_ phase of a new relationship: the _couldn't keep their hands off each other, Thomas's stamina doing things he didn't even know it was still capable of_ phase. They'd fallen into something of a routine, with Thomas stopping by James's apartment for a few hours every other day when they could both make time. Sometimes they managed to have something resembling conversation before one or both of them got distracted; more often, their talks had to be saved for afterwards because matters escalated before Thomas was barely through the door, and for that neither of them had to say a word. 

The high would wear off eventually, Thomas knew that much. James liked to make disclaimers about how uncharacteristic it was for him to act like they were doing, which was to say, _sex all the damn time_. It was the novelty of it. Now they could do it when the urge struck them instead of stewing in repression like they'd been doing for the last several months. Still, Thomas was happy enough to bask in it while it lasted. Sometimes it all seemed too fucking good to be true.

Like now. Thomas had gotten cleaned up and dressed and made himself presentable, and he knew he needed to go home sometime soon, but it was hard to imagine leaving when James had waylaid him at the door — _against_ the door, more correctly — and started giving him the sort of lengthy goodbye that seemed to be the only type they were capable of these days. A goodbye that ended up being so lengthy that Thomas turned around and took them right back to the couch so they could continue. Frankly, James's powers of distraction were dangerous. If not for the world outside, Thomas would've stayed there kissing James for hours. Or at least until James started touching his hair. Which, as it turned out, was exactly what James chose to do just then.

Thomas pulled away. "Man, stop. You know how long it took me to get that looking good again?"

"Your hair looks fine," James said. 

"Not after you get your hands on it, it doesn't," Thomas said. "Now get off me." He gave James a light nudge that made James sigh and shift off him.

Thomas pulled out his phone and used his front camera as a mirror, which was a trick one learned only after spending too much time around a teenager. Any havoc James had wreaked was minimal enough that, even as Thomas ran his fingers through his curls to move them into what he considered acceptable positions, he was able to sneak glances to the side and see how James was watching him with soft adoration that might've been embarrassing if he wasn't in so deep.

Thomas knew that expression. Probably because it'd graced his own face more often than not in the last few weeks.

"So," Thomas said, putting his phone away.

"So," James said.

A shared glance; exchanged smiles. Thomas had quickly gotten over feeling like he'd unravel at the seams every time James gazed into his eyes. Now he just felt warm and almost unbearably content. He'd forgotten how deceptive it could be, being in love — something that tricked him into thinking that nothing could go wrong, that it'd always be like this.

He wouldn't make the mistake of thinking they had all the time in the world. Not again.

"I've been meaning to say," Thomas said, scooting over again so he was closer to James's side. "I like what we've got going on here."

"I was wondering how to ask," James said. Thomas had no idea if he was being serious or not. It'd be just like James to tease him for bringing up what must've seemed obvious. Of course Thomas liked it, and he'd shown that in the time they'd been together. If not by words, then by gazes and touches and smiles. Which would've been enough for a lot of people, but Thomas didn't want to leave these things unsaid.

Thomas's scepticism about the sincerity of this statement must've shown on his face.

"I meant it," James said. "This is new for both of us, and—"

"What, am I that rusty at this whole thing?"

"Would you let me finish?" 

Thomas couldn't help but smirk at that. "Darlin', I _always_ let you finish."

James did not look amused.

"I laugh at your jokes," Thomas said. "The least you could do is laugh at mine."

"I laugh at your jokes," James said. "When they're funny."

Hm. So a good old-fashioned _double entendre_ (pronounced the French way, of course) was less deserving of respect than an appalling pun. "Go on."

"What I'm trying to communicate, albeit clumsily, is," James said. "I haven't had the best luck with relationships. But I like you very much and I'd prefer not to make a mess of this."

Thomas took a moment to process this because _I like you very much_ sank in first and made the rest of it that much harder to focus on. "Well, _I_ think you're doing fine, and since my opinion on that is the only one that matters here..."

James chuckled. "You know, at the beginning, I told myself I'd at least try to be rational about this. Take it slow and casual."

"And how's that working out for you so far?"

James furrowed his brow pensively, as if he really had to think about that before answering. "On further reflection? Not so well."

They looked at each other for a moment before Thomas felt a snort of laughter escape him. James didn't laugh, but his lips twitched in a way that said that was only the case because he was doing his utmost not to.

"Just get over here," Thomas said. He tugged James to him with a hand on the back of his neck and kissed him. "Fuck your rationality." Another kiss. "Fuck slow and casual."

"Not the best idea I've had," James said once Thomas released him.

"Definitely not," Thomas said. "And all this reminds me you still have to come over to my place for dinner. How's that for slow and casual?"

James seemed mildly disquieted by the reminder.

"I keep telling you, it'll be fine," Thomas said. "You've already met my kids. I swear one of them thinks you're cooler than I am and the other's convinced you're the second-best teacher to walk the Earth—"

"Wait. Who's the best?"

"The _point_ is I'd like it an awful lot if that happened sooner rather than later," Thomas said. "Mostly so we can get out of this awkward zone where they know we're dating but only because I said so. Feels like I'm hiding something from them."

"All right," James said. "We'll do it. But promise one thing?"

"Anything for you, babe."

"No macaroni. Please."

Thomas frowned. "I eat plenty of things that aren't macaroni. Thinking otherwise is frankly reductive and insulting."

"Just making sure," James said.

* * *

Not that Thomas would've ever showed it, but as much as he wanted this, he was as hesitant as James was. Maybe more, since it was his kids that James would be meeting again, and Thomas was the one who'd have to live with whatever happened. Not that he thought anything would go _wrong_ , exactly. He had a hard time seeing how any of this would pan out in utter catastrophe. Especially since, as he'd said, this wasn't a first-time meeting for anyone involved. But the context was different. That in itself would've made things slightly anxiety-inducing if Thomas was still prone to anxiety. Which he was not.

At least it might end up smoothing things over for Patsy. Thomas had the benefit of getting the story from both sides, and according to James, Patsy acted perfectly natural in front of him; according to Patsy, her awkwardness showed like a "huge freaking neon sign." That wasn't getting sorted out in the classroom any time, so if she got to see James outside of a classroom setting and realise he wasn't just a teacher but a _person_ — a person who admittedly happened to be engaged in a romantic relationship with her father — things would be a whole lot better for everyone involved. Thomas knew this. He embraced it. 

Now if only he could get his kids to stop projecting their nervousness onto him.

"Dad," Maria said, "I know you're worried, but please don't take it out on the risotto. The rest of us have to eat that."

"I'm not worried," Thomas said, his actions in no way contradicting his words as he dumped Parmesan into the aforementioned risotto with maybe a bit more force than necessary.

"He's totally worried," Patsy stage-whispered to Maria.

Thomas elected to ignore them and focus on cooking rather than turn around and see whatever look was passing between the two of them at the moment. Something smug and knowing, no doubt.

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Patsy said. She bounded off with such alacrity that Thomas could've almost been fooled into believing she wasn't also getting anxiety pangs about this whole thing. But even if she was, she'd no doubt tucked that feeling away. Patsy seldom shied away from a challenge once it was right in front of her, and "greet your high school teacher at the door and act like this wasn't a strange situation for everyone" was one hell of a challenge, all right. 

On the other hand, Maria had started inching closer to Thomas; was, in fact, practically hanging off his arm as he started up the final bout of stirring.

"What's wrong?" Thomas said. "I thought you liked James."

"I talked to him properly _once_ ," Maria said, "and that was _forever_ ago."

Forever being...what was it? A little over a month ago. Apparently that was enough for Maria to lose any warming up she'd managed to do the last time around. It didn't surprise Thomas. When she'd been younger, they'd visited his siblings infrequently enough that she'd still been shy around his sisters despite having met them on multiple occasions. Even if she got over it at the end of one visit, it was right back to the beginning the next time.

Distantly, Thomas heard Patsy open the door and chirp out a, "Hi, Mr Madison!" He very deliberately forced himself not to eavesdrop. No overthinking every word and trying to judge how things were going.

There was the sound of the fridge door opening and closing, which Thomas took to mean James had gone ahead and brought dessert like he'd threatened to do. 

"Is the risotto done?" Patsy said, coming up behind him. He glanced back, but James wasn't with her, so she must've left him in the living room.

"Just about."

"I'll get it on the plates. You go say hi to Mr Madison." 

"I'll help," Maria blurted out.

Kindness, or a clever way to extricate themselves from the situation briefly? Thomas left them to it rather than analyse it too hard.

Patsy had left James in the living room. He hadn't taken a seat. Nor did he look like he'd drawn so much as one easy breath since setting foot inside the apartment, but then he saw Thomas and something in him transformed, his eyes lighting up. The contrast filled Thomas with a sudden, aching awareness; he'd gotten so used to James looking at him in that way, he'd all but forgotten what anything else was like.

"Thomas," James said.

They exchanged smiles, as they seemed to be doing more and more nowadays, even though there was nothing to smile about. Except for the simple fact of being together, that was. God, he was glad the girls were too busy plating the risotto to witness this. He and James needed to learn how to act around people when they were together.

As things stood, it felt strange without any immediate physical contact. He'd instated a "no PDA in front of the children" rule, which James had readily agreed to. More readily than Thomas had suggested it, since Thomas had found early on that James was a lot more squeamish about public displays of affection than he was. Right about now, the chances of his daughters walking in on them were too much for his comfort, and so he kept his distance. Even though that was the opposite of what he wanted.

Thomas cleared his throat. "You have impeccable timing," he said. "Risotto waits for no man."

"I know," James said. "I didn't want to squander your hard work."

"Yes, well, it _was_ hard work. I actually brought out the truffle salt. You know what a big deal that is?"

"I can guess," James said. He reached out and took Thomas's hand in his. Just one quick squeeze, but it was enough to make any lingering tension Thomas might've felt about this — not evaporate, exactly, but it did push it back for the time being. "We should probably head over there." 

Patsy and Maria were seated at the dining table. Both of them looked more relaxed about the whole thing, and Patsy smiled readily at James as he sat down next to Thomas; Maria, although she clearly would've preferred to be examining her plate instead of raising her gaze, managed a shy smile anyway. 

Thomas turned a pointed stare towards James, who was regarding the risotto in front of him with slight trepidation.

"It smells edible," James said at last.

"Don't go sounding too enthusiastic or anything." 

"It's okay, Mr Madison," Patsy said. "Dad can cook. Mostly."

"We've only gotten food poisoning about twice," Maria said.

Thomas made a mental note: the speed of light was now officially topped by the speed at which his daughters recovered from their awkwardness for the sole purpose of mocking him. He glared at James, daring him to find any part of that funny. To his credit, James maintained a successful poker face, even though Thomas had a feeling he was more than a little amused by the girls' traitorous words.

" _Bon appétit_ , y'all," Thomas said. "That's French for _pipe down and eat._ "

The other three complied, so apparently he still retained _some_ authority in this household.

Still, Thomas was in no way ready for James's almost comical expression of surprise upon taking his first bite of risotto. It was there for all of a second, but it'd existed.

"You _can_ cook," James said.

"That so?" Thomas said. "Good thing we finally have your expert opinion to back it up." 

"Between the Kraft macaroni and the accounts of your baking disasters, I didn't have a very flattering impression." He caught Thomas's deepening frown. "But this is wonderful, Thomas."

"Dad only makes his risotto on special occasions," Maria said. "We've been asking him _forever_."

That got James's attention. "Is that so?"

"Don't go feeling too special, now," Thomas said. "I had to do _something_ to set your misconceptions straight."

He thought he'd managed to sound casual enough — like it meant nothing, like it wasn't a big deal that he'd put an inordinate amount of effort into this. But really, they were adults, and who was he trying to fool? Certainly not James, who gave him a look that said he knew Thomas was full of shit.

"It's still very kind of you to go to all this trouble," James said after a moment.

"That's me," Thomas said. "A paragon of kindness."

The conversation tapered off for a while after that. Thomas was starting to wish the girls would speak more instead of watching like they were a zoo exhibit. If they were anything like him, they were assessing the situation, trying to find out what _would_ be appropriate to say, but Christ, there were just so many barriers and so much weirdness in this situation that nobody knew where to start.

To his surprise, Patsy brought it up. 

"So," she said. "Can we, um. Talk about the elephant in the room?"

James and Thomas exchanged a look.

"It's a fairly big elephant," James said.

"Okay. I know we're trying to act like this is a totally normal thing that we do all the time, but the thing is it's…kind of weird for all of us." As an afterthought, she said, "Dad doesn't even _like_ teachers most of the time."

"So I've heard," James said. "There are still horror stories being passed around the staff room."

Thomas nudged him. "You didn't need to tell them that, James."

"Like we didn't know," Patsy said. She took a deep breath. "So. You're my teacher. And you're dating my dad."

"I know it isn't ideal," James said. "If it's any consolation, I try not to date the parents of my students, so this is new for me too. Anything I can do to lessen the strangeness..."

"No, I'm gonna get over that. I just needed to point it out." Patsy was quiet for a bit, looking between them. Then at last she said to Thomas, "So...does Mr Madison ever make awful jokes and then act like it never happened?"

"Oh, God," Thomas groaned. "Yes. Yes, he does."

"Good," Patsy said. "He does it in class too, but only a few people get it."

"Patsy," James said, sounding surprised and mildly offended. "I thought you liked my jokes."

"I thought _someone_ had to smile at them. Otherwise it'd be too sad."

Her solemn tone made Thomas laugh. James _tried_ to look at him disapprovingly, but he didn't do such a good job of it once they caught sight of each other, and— okay, so much for not being embarrassing in front of the kids.

Thomas forced himself to get a grip.

"At least Mr Madison doesn't go around sulking when people don't laugh at his jokes," Patsy said.

That wiped the smile off Thomas's face. "I don't _sulk._ "

"Sure, Dad," the girls said simultaneously in identical bored tones.

Even though they'd gone right back to making fun of him — and right after Thomas had managed to have a laugh at James's expense, too — it'd lightened up the atmosphere. Conversation came easier after that.

The thing was, Thomas had never had to think about how another person would fit into their family because he'd never thought it would happen. Not after Martha had died. But now James was here, and he was turning all Thomas's carefully-laid plans upside down, and Thomas didn't mind it. Even if all of them were going to have to shift around to make this fit properly. And change their expectations.

Thomas couldn't shake the image of when it had been him and Martha and Patsy, and even when everything else had seemed difficult, their family of three had felt right and perfect and fitting. And now this was what he had, and maybe it was strange and clunky for now, but when James managed to coax a smile from Maria, Thomas thought he'd be able to live with that just fine.

When the time for dessert rolled around, everyone was more relaxed than before.

"I said you didn't have to bring dessert," Thomas said, for the sake of having something to complain about as he got up to go fetch it.

"No point in arguing about it now," James said.

As it turned out, he'd made blueberry panna cotta. Blueberry, because it was one of the few berries that James wasn't allergic to.

"I thought it'd be best to stick to something light after you told me you were making risotto," James said by way of explanation. "Besides, I like panna cotta. It's simple and not too sweet."

"Ah, yes," Thomas said. "I forgot you're also allergic to sweetness."

"Which is why I enjoy your company so much."

"Hilarious, darlin'."

James had meant it as a joke, Thomas knew that, but the way James said it made it sound fond, somehow. Even when James was essentially telling him that he was the _opposite_ of sweetness, he still managed to sound like he was saying something loving. Thomas wasn't used to having someone talk about him like that. It was more strangeness than he was willing to put up with.

Predictably enough, the panna cotta was excellent, since James was incapable of anything less.

"You need to tone it down," Thomas told him. "It's bad form to outdo me at my own dinner."

"Don't listen to him, Mr Madison," Patsy said. 

"Dad could do with being upstaged more often," Maria added.

James regarded the girls warily. "Is this how things normally go around here?"

"What, my own offspring plotting my downfall?" Thomas said. "Unfortunately."

When they were done, Thomas would've liked to have James stick around a bit longer, but he didn't think they were at that point yet. Maybe it'd be best to cut this short while it was still going well, instead of prolonging it and giving it a chance to go south. 

James must've been thinking along the same lines. He stood up. "I should go," he said. "But I had a wonderful time." 

"It was really nice having you over, Mr Madison," Maria said.

"You should come again sometime," Patsy said. "I'm sure Dad wouldn't mind." She cast him a wry look.

Thomas cleared his throat. "Yes. You coming over again. Definitely wouldn't mind that." He got up too. "Let me show you out."

In the open doorway, and out of sight, Thomas wasted no time in kissing James like he'd been longing for all night. It'd been _torture_ , being able to look but not touch. Like being transported right back to those times before they got together.

"Don't overdo it," James murmured against his lips. 

Thomas knew what he meant. Since he'd have to go right back to the girls after this, it'd be nice if he managed to go back decent. He usually ended up decidedly _in_ decent if he'd been kissing James for a while.

That didn't stop him from going in for another kiss anyway. When it was over, Thomas sighed and leaned into him again, reluctant to let go. James didn't push away in any hurry to get home.

"I meant what I said about having a good time with y'all," James said.

"Mm. Went smoother than expected, didn't it?" Thomas said. "Good thing my girls have decent social graces."

"I was more worried I'd be the one to stick my foot in my mouth," James said.

"It was a delicate situation all around," Thomas said. "But it's all good. It'll be a lot easier the second time, I can tell you that much."

"I'll let you know whenever's convenient," James said. He squeezed Thomas's shoulder briefly, then stepped away. "See you, Thomas." And he smiled. The same smile Thomas had been weak for since the beginning. 

When he returned to the kitchen, the girls had started washing up and were conversing with each other in hurried tones. They shut up the moment he entered. Much as he'd have liked to press the matter, he knew them well enough to know he wouldn't be getting anything out of them if he did. They could have their little secrets.

"So," Thomas said. "How'd it go?"

"No offence, Dad," Patsy said, "but are you sure that was Mr Madison?" In response to the question on his face, she elaborated: "I've never seen Mr Madison like that. Even when he's smiling, he looks sad. Like he's at someone's funeral."

"Pretty sure that's just his resting face," Thomas said.

"Whatever," Patsy said. "It was bizarre."

"That's 'cause you didn't see him that time he came over and listened to Dad play the violin and then made cookies with me," Maria said. "He's always been like that around Dad." She seemed perfectly satisfied with this.

"I can't get over that being a thing that happened," Patsy said. "Mr Madison. Making cookies." She hesitated. "Dad...you really like him, don't you?"

"I like him a lot," Thomas said. 

"I like him too," Maria said. "I think he's good for you, Dad. He makes fun of you almost as much as we do."

"If that's the criteria we're going by, no wonder I've been single all these years." He reached out to ruffle Maria's hair, getting a whine of protest in response.

"Well," Patsy said, "my next class with Mr Madison is going to be fun." But she was grinning as she said it. "He seems more like an actual person now. Even if it's weird to know he makes this mushy face whenever he looks at you."

Glad as Thomas was that this whole thing had accomplished one of the things he'd set out to do, he had to set her straight on one thing. "We're grown men. We don't make 'mushy faces'."

Patsy and Maria glanced at each other.

"You film it next time," Patsy said.

"No, you do it," Maria said. "You're always on your phone, you can pretend you're texting."

"But it'll be more awkward if I get caught," Patsy said.

"Rock, paper, scissors," Maria said, extending her hand.

"Girls," Thomas said, "if you want to covertly film this to prove a point, you probably shouldn't have let me in on it."

"Like you're gonna remember," Maria said. "You'll be too busy making googly eyes at Mr Madison." Then: "That's not fair, Patsy, you cheated."

"You can't cheat at rock, paper, scissors," Patsy said.

Maria crossed her arms. "Can too."

Privately, Thomas didn't think that knowing Maria usually picked rock constituted cheating, but he was waiting for the day she figured that out on her own.

"So," Patsy said. "Mr Madison's going to come over again."

Maria perked up immediately. "Can he make those brownies again?"

"Oh my God, _please_ ," Patsy said.

"I can't just tell him to make something," Thomas said. "That's unseemly."

Maria snorted. "Oh, please. He'd make a freaking croquemboche mountain if you asked him to."

Thomas put a disapproving hand on her shoulder. "Young lady, what do we say about exploiting people?"

"Um...to do it only if we can get away with it?"

"No, that's _not_ what I—"

"It kind of is," Patsy said. "Paraphrased, at least. I don't remember the exact wording you used."

"The point," Thomas said, "is that it's a no."

"Well," Maria said. "Okay. It's kind of hurtful to hear that from someone I thought was the best dad ever—"

" _Mary_ ," Thomas said. "What do we say about manipulating...you know what? Forget it. We're not going there."

Patsy patted him on the shoulder. "That's probably for the best."

* * *

James spent more time with them after that. Sometimes for dinner at the apartment, sometimes outside, never staying the night. Not that he and Thomas ever _had_ been able to spend the night together; circumstances refused to align in that way.

Thanks to a sudden upswing in work pressure for both of them, finding time to spend with each other had become harder. Still, Thomas insisted on seeing James as often as he could, and if they couldn't do it in a more conventional way, so be it. They'd gotten to the point where, if they had to meet up at the supermarket because they both needed to do their grocery shopping and couldn't think of any other time to fit it in, then Thomas would just go ahead and do it.

If Thomas wrote a list of his favourite things to do with James, grocery shopping would not have made the cut. Looked at properly, it was so fucking banal, them making their way through a supermarket, sharing a cart and making at least a bit of effort not to block the aisles — something Thomas lambasted whenever he was forced to put up with it from other people, so he had to _try_ to act like he didn't partake in it himself. And yet. Somehow it was strangely comforting, doing this with someone else. (Someone else who didn't pull the sort of antics Patsy or Maria did on the rare occasions they were forced to accompany him.)

Even if he and James didn't see eye-to-eye on certain aspects of grocery shopping. As evidenced by the fact that Thomas had stopped in front of the Kraft macaroni and started doing something that never would've drawn any criticism if he'd been by himself, only to find that James put a concerned hand on his arm when there were three boxes in the cart.

Thomas looked him right in the eye. Never breaking contact, he added a fourth one out of spite.

"You're really not helping your case," James said.

"Which case?"

" _Jefferson v. Madison_ , for slandering your name by making it sound like Kraft Macaroni is the only thing you eat."

"Which it isn't," Thomas said. "Look. Right here in this cart. Plenty of things that aren't Kraft Macaroni."

"You still eat it more than I thought any person ever could."

"If I'm not serving it to you, you don't get to complain," Thomas said. "And now I'm thinking I _will_ serve it to you next time you're over for dinner."

"I thought that might happen," James said. "That's why I wanted to volunteer to help you in the kitchen next time."

Thomas eyed him warily. "You sure our relationship would survive that?"

"It's doable if you designate one person to be the sous chef and the other person to do the actual cooking," James said. "That helps minimise conflict."

"Minimising conflict? That's contrary to my nature."

That managed to wring a smile out of James. "Just consider it."

Thomas was, in fact, considering it. Considering the idea of incorporating James into yet another task that was part of a mundane routine. Something that had to be gotten out of the way, or so he'd become used to thinking about cooking. Thing was, he could picture it almost too easily. Another area of his life that James would fit into. Not seamlessly, not effortlessly. Thomas didn't believe in either of those concepts as far as adult relationships were concerned, since all his experience just said it was goddamn hard work. But they'd manage to make it work, somehow, as they'd been doing so far. 

Christ. Thomas wasn't sure where any of this was heading, but he liked it. Thinking about it in those terms managed to dredge up the warm, fuzzy feelings that still somehow managed to surface whenever he looked at James for too long or thought too hard about how fucking _fond_ he was of this guy who'd managed to enter his life under bizarre circumstances, and how lucky Thomas was that, after all of it, James was still around. Said warm, fuzzy feelings lasted until they made it over to the cheese section and James picked up some Camembert as if he was actually considering buying that crap.

Thomas wrinkled his nose. "You know you can't get proper Camembert in this country, right?"

"And?"

"James. Where does Camembert cheese come from?"

"France."

"Yes," Thomas said. "France. Where it's made with raw milk. But that? That is made with pasteurised milk."

"Okay."

" _Pasteurised milk,_ James. _Pas avec le lait cru, mais—_ "

"Your little rants have taught me enough French that I can follow along now," James said. He was inspecting the cheese in a way that said he'd tuned out Thomas, reducing him to little better than background noise. "You're better than Rosetta Stone."

"Firstly, Rosetta Stone isn't even that good, and secondly, I've got four more languages to drive the point home if you need it," Thomas said. And, when James shrugged and put that travesty in his own cart anyway: "My God, did you not listen to anything I said?"

"I'm afraid I don't see what the big deal is."

"That is fake Camembert," Thomas said. "It's an abomination. It's not even made with _le lait cru_ —"

"You can just say 'raw milk'," James said.

"The FDA took away my right to buy authentic French cheese within my own country," Thomas said. "This isn't just about integrity, James. This is about liberty."

At last James turned his attention back to Thomas. "Camembert made with pasteurised milk is an abomination, but Kraft Macaroni isn't?"

"That," Thomas said, "is an appalling false equivalence."

"I think it's a reasonable question to ask," James said. "And how does this go with you worrying about salmonella?"

"The health risks from eating unpasteurised cheese aren't nearly comparable."

"Well," James said. The cheese stayed where it was, unrepentant. "I hope France can someday forgive me."

Thomas sighed more heavily than necessary. "You're gonna give me a migraine one of these days, _mon chou_."

They continued shopping. James stopped in the baking aisle to pick up some almond flour, and Thomas was about to ask what was up with that, since he knew all about James's tree nut allergy. Before he could, he got distracted by some kid babbling to his mom about his birthday cake — the talk of birthdays reminded Thomas that his own reminder of mortality was drawing closer than he liked to think. Right on the heels of that thought came something a lot worse.

"I've committed a horrendous oversight," Thomas informed James. "I just realised I have no idea when your birthday is."

"The sixteenth of March."

Thomas's mind ground to a halt. "That was a week ago."

"That it was," James agreed readily.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I prefer not to make it a big deal."

"But I could've done _something_ ," Thomas said. "My God. I know you're a private person and all that, but this is going too far."

"It's not as if there isn't a next time," James said.

"Yeah, in _almost one year_ ," Thomas said. "My first chance to blow your mind with birthday sex, and you deprive me of it." Then again, considering how James's sex drive and Thomas's luck went, James wouldn't have been in the mood that day anyway. For the first few months they'd been together, Thomas had a difficult time thinking of any reason he'd ever want to say no to sex with James; James, on the other hand, did say no. Not often, but it'd still been something to get used to.

Too late, he noticed the kid's mom glaring at him. Oops. That might've been a bit loud.

James started pushing their cart away, and Thomas went with him.

"Well, I'm not like you," Thomas said. "Mine's coming up. April thirteenth. I'm making actual plans for that, and I'm expecting you to be there."

"I know," James said. "I wouldn't miss your birthday."

"I'd sure love to say the same," Thomas drawled, "but _unfortunately_..."

James looked at him for a long moment. Thomas saw the exact moment James drew the same conclusion he had: that this was the kind of conflict that'd be solved more easily by a quick bit of making out than by reason and discussion. 

"We'll talk about this later," James said.

* * *

For a few years now, Thomas's birthday policy had been this: if he was forced to accept being one year older, then he was going to do it in style. And so he took the girls out to a fancy-as-hell restaurant for dinner, one of the type where reservations were needed an indecent amount of time in advance, and where "jacket required" was still part of the dress code.

The obvious change here, of course, was that they had an additional person with them. Inviting James along for the ride hadn't been as easy as it should've been — the whole money thing was starting to factor in and complicate matters. Thomas had expensive taste. James might've been from a rich family, but he now lived mostly off a high school teacher's salary. It wasn't the ideal equation. Neither was the one where Thomas earned more than twice as much as James did.

They'd argued about it for a while. James had insisted on paying his own way; Thomas had pulled up the website and shown him the prices on the menu; James had looked like he was going to be physically ill; Thomas had told James that it was _his_ birthday, and if it made him happy to treat his partner to dinner at a fancy restaurant, then he was going to do it. They'd have a proper talk about that later, but for the moment James had conceded the point. 

Truthfully, there was something Thomas was looking forward to more: James spending the night. They'd never spent a night together before, since everything happened at James's place and ended with Thomas rushing home because, while Patsy might've legally been an adult, Maria wasn't, and he was definitely not about to leave those two home alone _overnight_. He'd tried a few times to pawn them off on someone else so he could do it guilt-free, with little success. The breaking point had come after an unsubtle attempt to send Maria off on a sleepover with one of her friends, to which she'd said, "Dad, Mr Madison can sleep over if you want him to. I'm not a six-year-old, I know what you're doing."

Thomas hadn't been aiming for that, not exactly. He hadn't even considered the idea of James staying the night at his place instead of vice versa. But if that was how Maria felt about it, he was willing to defer to her on that one.

Patsy hadn't been resistant when he'd brought it up. To Thomas's utter lack of surprise, James had been the most difficult person to convince, but once he'd gotten over the contractual fuss he was required to make about sleeping over at a place where one of his students lived, he seemed to enjoy the prospect.

And it was a new prospect for both of them. Not being fettered by some deadline. Waking up next to each other in the morning. Happy birthday to Thomas.

They'd been forced to wait a few days after Thomas's actual birthday so it was Friday and James could spend the night after dinner without having to rush off to school the next day. Still, since the agreement had been for dinner and not anything beforehand, Thomas wasn't expecting James to show up on his doorstep an hour after school let out.

"James," Thomas said. "Wasn't expecting you until later."

"There's something I need to give you now," James said.

That was intriguing. Although admittedly not very mysterious, considering he had a container in hand. Which left a limited range of possibilities, this being James and all. "All right, come in."

"It took a few test batches to get right," James said once Thomas had closed the door behind him and ushered him into the kitchen.

He set the container down on the countertop and opened it. Cookies. Not just any cookies. They were a delicate purple, perfectly round, and—

"You made me macarons," Thomas said.

"I thought you might like them."

"Darlin', I'm five seconds away from swooning like a pretty little Southern belle." He picked one up. "Is this..." 

"Lavender," James said. "With chocolate ganache."

"Oh, Christ. Marry me already."

James's smile turned awkward and forced, so Thomas filed that under "things that probably shouldn't be joked about yet" and chose to take a bite of the macaron rather than try to explain himself. His first taste of it genuinely made him consider popping the question again.

"My God," Thomas said. 

"Not exactly Ladurée, I know," James said.

Thomas put a finger against James's lips. "Shhh. Darlin'. You know how to use lavender without it tasting like soap or perfume. Do you know how rare that is? Do you know _how_ many lavender-flavoured things I've been disappointed by?"

James blinked. "It's not meant to taste like that?"

Oh dear. Another person who'd only ever had badly-done lavender.

"It isn't," Thomas said. "And this doesn't. Fuck, James, this is perfect. _You're_ perfect."

"I wouldn't go that far." 

"Oh my God, you have gotta stop talking when I'm trying to lavish you with affection." Thomas, in favour of proving his point, decided to postpone eating the rest of his macaron so he could kiss James and show him just how grateful he was.

James tensed up and took a step back as he leaned in.

"What?" Thomas said.

James cleared his throat. "Remember how I'm allergic to tree nuts?"

Oh. _Oh._ Yeah, Thomas knew that, and for the most part he'd tried to avoid tree nuts for when he knew he'd be around James shortly afterwards, but this—

"Great," Thomas said. "I can't kiss you because I ate a fucking macaron."

"Based on prior experience, it might not be a great idea," James said. "I was on a third date once where he had pecan pie for dessert. It was a bad time for everyone."

"I used to ask myself how the hell you were still single when we met," Thomas said, "but if that's how your luck usually goes, then no fucking wonder." He took a mournful bite of the remainder of his macaron. "Even if I don't use tongue?"

James shrugged apologetically.

"I hate this," Thomas said. "When do I get to kiss you again?"

"You should be good by dinnertime," James said. "That's why I thought I'd bring this along now, since I didn't want to interrupt our plans for tonight."

"If I couldn't kiss you tonight, I'd riot," Thomas said. He put a hand on James's shoulder. "Thanks for this. I know macarons are a real pain in the ass."

"But you like them," James said. As if that was reason enough. What the hell had Thomas done to deserve this guy?

James took Thomas's hand in his own and brushed his lips over Thomas's knuckles in lieu of their usual goodbye kiss. "I should head home. I'll see you tonight?"

"You'll be doing a _hell_ of a lot more than seeing me, that's for sure," Thomas said, in a tone of voice which left no room for uncertainty as to what he meant.

He noticed a moment too late that Patsy had wandered into the kitchen. She tried very hard not to let her reaction show on her face. And failed spectacularly.

James noticed her too. At which point he looked even more mortified than she was and made his exit at speeds Thomas hadn't thought possible. Too bad James left before Thomas could offer him a paper bag to breathe into. He'd need one to recover from what happened.

Thomas cleared his throat. "We're pretending that never happened. Okay?"

"Okay," Patsy agreed readily. "What's up with those?"

"James made me macarons," Thomas said. "Want one? They're lavender." It wasn't a serious question. Both his kids hated lavender in food, which meant Thomas was confident his birthday macarons would remain his property.

Patsy wrinkled her nose, but then she said, "Wait. He made them?"

"Sure did."

"Watch out, Dad," Patsy said. "It's getting serious."

"They're just macarons, honey."

She raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

"I know," Thomas said. "I didn't believe that when I said it either."

* * *

James came over later that night, dressed as was appropriate for the venue.

Thomas had had endless time to speculate on what that would entail, since he'd never really seen James dressed up, but upon opening the door for James, he found that the real thing was better than anything he could've conjured up in his mind. He couldn't stop the slow grin that spread across his face as he looked James up and down. "Why, _Mr Madison._ "

James tugged at his collar self-consciously. "Getting dressed up like this makes me feel like I should have brought flowers."

"Even better, you brought macarons."

"And became allergic to you as a result."

"When you put it like that, it breaks my heart," Thomas said.

"Didn't you once tell me you don't have a heart?"

"Yes, well, I've been having second thoughts about that lately. Now get over here. I wanna give you a kiss." 

Once again, James hesitated. Before Thomas could ask just how fucking long it would be before James considered him allergen-free, James said, "The girls won't be...?"

"They're not coming by any time soon," Thomas said. "You know how long they take to get ready?"

"Not as long as you do?"

Thomas frowned, and James set to placating him in the way he did best.

With James's mouth on his, Thomas had to remind himself that he definitely could not afford to make a mess of both of them right now. But seeing James in that suit was like having a present put in front of him and being told he couldn't unwrap it yet.

James wrinkled his nose when they pulled away. "A bit strong with the cologne there."

"But it's the one you like," Thomas said. "The— how'd you put it? The douchey one."

"I never said that."

"Paraphrasing."

James made a sound that was probably meant to be disapproving, but then went and undid the impact by nuzzling Thomas's neck. Thomas felt him breathe in — oh, he totally liked the douchey cologne, no matter what he said — before dropping a kiss. Softly, gently, but even after he pulled away, Thomas could feel where his lips had been.

"Darlin'," Thomas said. "Save that for the after-party, or I won't be responsible for what happens."

"All right," James said, sounding amused.

Miraculously enough, by the time the girls appeared, Thomas and James had managed to create a respectable distance between them. And if Thomas kept mentally undressing James, it wasn't as if anyone could see.

"Finally," Thomas said. "You girls take so long to get ready."

Patsy put her hands on her hips. "Dad, that's just wrong and weirdly sexist. You started getting ready _two hours before we did._ Furthermore, it's an empirical fact that even on normal days, you take way more time—"

"Okay, _okay_. It was just a joke. Put it down as another dollar in the sexism jar and let it go."

"I hate to ask, but is there an actual sexism jar?" James said.

"Of course not," Thomas said, just as Patsy said, "Yes, and it's how I'm paying for college."

Maria patted Patsy's arm. "Deep breaths. Count to ten."

"Be nice to me," Thomas said. "I'm now old and decrepit."

"You're thirty-nine," Patsy said flatly.

"Old. Decrepit."

Patsy turned to James. "He's been doing this for a decade," she said, sounding bored. "Every single birthday, he acts like he's some kind of fossil because he's one year older. You'll get used to it, Mr Madison."

"I'm a bit worried by how used to it I am already," James said.

* * *

Things went fine once they got to the restaurant. Thomas managed not to provoke Patsy's outrage any further; James managed to flick through the menu without looking like he was going to throw up at the prices; all in all, it went off without a hitch.

Retreating too obviously to the bedroom once they got back would have been gauche with the girls around, so he and James hung around in the living room and made polite conversation for a while. They must not have been subtle, since it wasn't too long before Maria and Patsy individually came over to announce that they'd be going to sleep (i.e.: staying in their rooms the rest of the night), and Thomas could finally show James to his bedroom.

The moment the door closed behind them, Thomas was about to lean in and kiss James in a way that very clearly signalled his intentions. But James wasn't looking at him. Rather, he was looking over Thomas's shoulder with an expression of utter confusion.

"Thomas," James said, sounding like he was putting in herculean effort to keep his tone controlled and neutral, "is that where your bed is meant to be?"

"Eh?" Thomas turned around. His bed being where it always was, it took a moment to realise what James might be referring to. "Oh. That. It's an alcove bed."

"Why."

"Uh, to save space? I've got this sliding door thing going on — see, there's a screen I can pull back and be right in my study. Comes in handy."

James looked like he didn't know what to do with this information.

"I don't like your expression," Thomas said.

"What's wrong with it?"

"I can _read it_ , James. And right now you're thinking something like, 'This is why you're an architect and not an interior designer.'"

"You said that, not me."

And that was in no way a denial.

"Unbelievable. _I_ was thinking about the amazingly filthy things I planned to do to you, but your non-verbal judgement of my furniture might've changed my mind. In fact, I'm putting a moratorium on amazingly filthy things starting now." Thomas shook his head. "Turning thirty-nine probably added another five minutes onto my refractory period anyways."

"For someone who supposedly likes natural science, your understanding of human biology leaves a lot to be desired," James said. Then he kissed Thomas, and Thomas's admittedly tenuous resolve to keep his moratorium in place vanished into nothingness.

Here was the thing about sleeping with James: if it'd been good the first go around, there was no comparing it to how it was after they'd gotten this familiarity with each other. And on this occasion James took the time, took it slow like they didn't always get to, invested completely in focusing on Thomas, in making him come undone. 

And Thomas— Thomas also liked what came after. James wrapped around him, both of them trying to catch their breath, James's head on his chest. James's hand in his, their fingers intertwined loosely.

Thomas spoke when he could string together a coherent sentence again. "My God. I haven't smoked in eighteen years, but I could go in for a cigarette right about now."

"Please don't. It irritates my allergic rhinitis." James shifted, trying to get comfortable. One of his feet bumped against the sliding door, which rattled for not the first time that evening. "This bed." He said it in a way which made it clear there was an unspoken curse between _this_ and _bed_. 

"You wanna sleep on the floor? Because you're welcome to sleep on the floor."

Admittedly, the bed had proven to be a tight squeeze. No danger of anyone falling off, but surrounded by wall on three sides, there hadn't been as much wiggle room as Thomas was used to after all the time he'd spent in James's bed.

"At one point I was worried you'd bang your head against the wall," James said.

"Why've you gotta give me great birthday sex followed by shitty pillow talk?"

"We were never good at pillow talk," James said. "But you're welcome to change the subject."

"Good, 'cause I'm changing it," Thomas said. "Okay, so. This was amazing and all, but I'm thinking, next time there's a special occasion, we could try...something different." He dropped his voice for that, making it all low and sultry.

James didn't stir from his position. "This is where you tell me one of your sexual fantasies, isn't it."

"Just because making me wear glasses is as ambitious as you get..."

"Go on, Thomas."

"Listen carefully, this is a good one," Thomas said. "Imagine for a moment that I'm the President and you're the Secretary of State, and—"

"Why Secretary of State?" James said. He'd turned to look at Thomas, seeming mildly offended. "Why can't I be your Vice President?"

"Because then I get to pretend you travel a lot and sometimes we don't see each other." Thomas saw the scepticism on James's face. "It makes the affair more torrid. Like that saying about absence making the heart grow fonder."

"You...put some thought into this."

"Of course I'm not saying _you're_ not brilliant enough to be President too," Thomas said. "You can have the nation when I'm done with it."

"The question is whether I'll still want it," James said. "President Madison, left to deal with the economic crisis President Jefferson caused by spending 100% of the federal budget on macaroni and cheese."

"Hang on, Congress approved this?"

"You can be very persuasive, Thomas."

"Persuasive enough to make you give this a shot?" Thomas said.

James didn't speak for a while. Thomas could practically hear the gears in his head turning. "You really want me to call you Mr President in bed."

"Hey, all I'm saying is I wouldn't hate it," Thomas said. "Secretary Madison."

James turned away wordlessly. After a moment, Thomas realised he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Okay," Thomas said. "We're tabling this idea until you can keep a straight face."

"As if you'd do any better," James said, turning back to him. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Thomas. "Mr President, we are engaged..." A deliberate pause. "In a battle for our nation's very soul."

Thomas couldn't help it — the combination of James's now-serious expression and grave tone made him snort, which soon turned into full-blown laughter when James got started too. Then James pushed himself up so they were lying side-by-side, facing each other, and Thomas's laughter faded away when he saw how James was gazing at him.

James slid a hand into Thomas's hair and pulled him into a kiss, soft and sweet. They drew away and grinned at each other.

"Still think it's a good idea?" James said.

"So it sounded a lot better in my head," Thomas said. "But seriously, 'engaged in a battle for our nation's very soul'?"

"It was the first appropriately dramatic thing that came to mind."

"See, my thoughts were more along the lines of, 'Mr President, we are engaged in intercourse,' but you do you."

"It needs build-up, Thomas."

"You make shit so complicated," Thomas said. And still he couldn't stop smiling. 

James reached over, brushed a wayward curl away from Thomas's face. "Not all shit. Some of it's fairly simple."

"Like what?"

"I love you," James said.

That— for a moment, Thomas froze. James said it like it was a plain fact, but then Thomas saw the look on his face a moment after saying it. Clouded with a hint of worry, as if he thought Thomas wouldn't take it well, and so achingly earnest it overwhelmed Thomas.

He had no clue what to do with any of it. 

"I've been trying to find a good time to say it," James said, "and I figured I might as well. I don't expect you to say it back. Not unless you want to."

Thomas swallowed. Oh, Christ. There was nothing he wanted more than to be able to say it back. But he couldn't. He couldn't make the words come out, not yet. He couldn't— he couldn't even make himself feel like he _felt_ it back, not with the gravity he'd come to associate with those words. Maybe he was putting more weight on them than necessary, attributing them a quality that others didn't, but as things stood, saying it back for the sake of saying it would've felt wrong. Dishonest. Thomas could be dishonest with a lot of people, but not James. Never James. 

But there was no describing what'd happened to his heart when he'd heard James say that. So he settled for kissing James. Again, and again, and again. He thought his point might have been understood.

James had to catch his breath all over again. "If I'd known I could expect this kind of reaction, I might have said it sooner."

"Exactly how long were you sitting on that piece of information?"

"I plead the Fifth." 

Thomas ignored that. "Say it again." Selfish to ask when he hadn't said it? He didn't care, he just wanted to hear it again.

"You want me to plead the Fifth?"

"The _important_ one, James."

"Our constitutional rights are important, Thomas." Just when Thomas was ready to start pouting — actually pouting, like some kind of sulky teenager — James said, "I love you, Thomas." More self-conscious this time, now that the words were expected.

"I get the feeling you don't say that a whole lot," Thomas said.

"I'm not really used to the words themselves, no," James said. And then, more quietly: "I've never said that in any of my other relationships."

"I sure feel special."

The thing was, it did make him feel special. But there was an uncomfortable knowledge between them: if Thomas said it, it'd be far from the first time he'd said it to someone he was in a relationship with. And, more to the point, he wasn't saying it.

Thomas cleared his throat. "You know, I..." The words trailed off.

"Like I said, you don't need to say it back."

He couldn't possibly mean that. Thomas knew he'd have been at least a little hurt and offended if it was him in that position. But for the moment, Thomas took it as it was. And that'd have to be enough.

They spent a while longer cuddling and talking about nothing in particular, until James started yawning more than he was speaking and Thomas realised it might be time to sleep. He got out of bed, but paused when James made a soft, wordless sound of protest.

"I'll be right back," Thomas said. "I need to take out my contacts. And do my hair for bed. The 'fro takes a lot of maintenance."

"I'm aware," James said. "I see all the silk pillowcases."

When Thomas got back to bed, James was half-asleep. Which wasn't exactly surprising, since James often went out like a light after sex and ended up taking an impromptu nap, leaving Thomas all by himself. Still, James was awake enough to say, as Thomas climbed into bed, "Switch with me."

"Hm?"

"This wall is making me claustrophobic."

Thomas did as James said. All things considered, it wasn't terrible. Wedged between the sliding panel to his study and James's warm bulk, it could've easily been cramped and uncomfortable, but instead Thomas felt secure.

"Night night," Thomas murmured. In response, he got a small snore.

* * *

Any anticipation Thomas had about how they'd wake up — tangled in the sheets together, cuddling, sunlight streaming over them artfully — was cut in half by reality, which was Thomas's weekend alarm startling him awake.

He'd cuddled up to James in his sleep. And, judging by the way James started trying to burrow into the mattress, James would only be dragged from his slumber kicking and screaming.

The alarm was still going off.

James mumbled a few choice words, so low Thomas could've missed them entirely. He followed that with something that didn't sound like English but also didn't sound like either of the other two languages James knew. Then: "Turn. That. Off."

Someone wasn't a morning person.

"I'm trying," Thomas meant to say, but all that came out was incoherent mush. He manoeuvred himself over James, who grumbled when he did that, which, Jesus Christ, if he wasn't going to do it himself then he had no right to complain when Thomas tried. Somehow, _somehow_ , he managed to hit the snooze button.

He proceeded to crawl back onto his half of the bed and focus on blinking himself awake. By the time he could keep his eyes open, James saw fit to emerge from under his pillow. 

For a moment, James looked as startled as he could be while half-asleep. Like he wasn't expecting to see Thomas in bed with him. Then he smiled.

"Morning, gorgeous," Thomas said.

"You too," James said sleepily. He reached out, as if he meant to stroke Thomas's cheek, but instead his hand plopped down onto Thomas's face.

"Nice," Thomas said, muffled.

"'M still asleep," James said in that unrepentant way that half-asleep people had.

"I can see that," Thomas said. He climbed over James to get out of bed, stopping on his way out to drop a kiss onto James's bare shoulder, which was far too tempting as a target to be ignored. Then he just stood there for a little while, admiring the sight of James in his bed. James had thrown the sheets off in the right places, so it was all very scenic.

"I'm up," James said, but after a few seconds, it was clear that wasn't happening any time soon. He rolled over and went right back to sleep.

That was all very well and good, but Thomas had to make breakfast. So he showered and dressed and went into the kitchen only to find that Patsy had gotten up before he had. She'd set out food for breakfast and was in the process of making...French toast?

"This is a surprise," Thomas said.

"I took the liberty of making breakfast," Patsy said. "I was trying to imagine what'd happen if you were left to your own devices, and I was having visions of heart-shaped pancakes, so..." She shrugged.

"Embarrassingly close to what might've happened."

"My latent psychic powers chose the right time to kick in." She grinned at him. "Is Mr Madison still asleep?"

"He's trying to wake up," Thomas said. "I think. Doesn't seem like he's real good with mornings."

"Watch out, Dad. When you try being all peppy in the morning, folks get homicidal."

"Someone has to do it around here," Thomas said. "I swear, you and Maria on school days..." The way they acted, one would think they were being dragged to their executions.

"That's _normal_ ," Patsy said. "What's abnormal is whatever you do in the morning."

Actually, Thomas was inclined to agree. It hadn't been his natural mode of operation, not at all, but he'd made it work eventually because mornings with the girls made too depressing a scene otherwise.

He assisted Patsy in the kitchen — or, rather, stole pieces of French toast while she tried to stop him — then went to see if James was any more amenable to the idea of awakening. Upon re-entering his bedroom, he found that not only had James gotten up, but he'd made it all the way to the bathroom, as confirmed by the sounds of running water.

"James?" Thomas knocked. "You in there?"

After a moment, James came out. He still had yet to put on clothes. If that was the sort of sight Thomas had to look forward to, fucking _nobody_ could fault him for being upbeat in the morning.

Then he remembered what he'd had to put up with that morning and he couldn't help but smirk.

"What?" James said.

"Just remembering this morning," Thomas said. "Like how you swore at me and then started speaking in tongues."

James grinned, tired and guilty. "I don't function properly before I have my coffee."

"I could tell."

"And there you are, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I'm not sure why I didn't expect that." He leaned in and kissed Thomas. By instinct, Thomas braced himself to push away his discomfort with morning breath, but that wasn't what happened at all.

"Minty," Thomas said.

"I brushed my teeth first thing," James said. "To spare you my morning breath. I was about to shower."

"I would've put up with morning breath for you," Thomas protested, though he wasn't sure how true that was. James didn't entirely seem to believe it either, but it was a pointless argument to have now. And so instead, Thomas gave James a slow, appreciative appraisal from top to toe. "I'm enjoying the view, by the way."

"A peeping Tom," James murmured.

"Oh, ha-ha-ha, never heard that one before," Thomas said. "Y'all think you're so original."

It was hard to feel particularly annoyed with James, though. Because he could, Thomas took James's face in his hands and kissed him again, slow and thorough this time. He felt James's sharp little intake of breath, but then James got over himself and got into it, his large hands starting to explore Thomas's body in a way that held promise. Promise that Thomas would've liked to make good on, but he had other shit to do in the morning.

It was still a while before he bothered to pull away. By the time he did, they were pressed together closely enough that Thomas could feel James was interested in continuing.

"If I were you, I'd make that shower a cold one," Thomas said.

"Thomas," James said.

"Make it quick, too. Breakfast's ready, so you have to be there."

James extricated himself, looking mildly displeased. Thomas blew him a kiss and got the bathroom door shut in his face in response. Which didn't stop that from being a great start to his morning.

By the time James came along, and Maria shortly after him, they'd gotten everything set up for breakfast. Patsy said good morning to James as if having teachers sleep over at her home was, if not a regular occurrence, certainly nothing out of the ordinary. Probably because, in every other way, it was like any other meal at their house when James was around. That'd long since ceased to be a novelty.

When breakfast was over, Maria got up and declared, "I'm going back to sleep." As she did most weekends. She shuffled off, and Thomas knew from experience that she wouldn't emerge from her room until lunchtime.

The three of them were left to stare after her.

"Is it strange that I'm jealous of a sixth-grader?" James said.

"No," Thomas and Patsy said.

"Life's gonna suck when she figures out she won't always be able to sleep in on weekends," Patsy said, sounding as wise and world-weary as a girl of eighteen could.

Meanwhile, Thomas was pretty sure he'd forgotten what sleeping in even meant. "Wait until college, kiddo," he said. "And even then, make sure you get enough sleep so you don't end up like this guy here."

Patsy blinked. "Why?"

"I neglected to take care of myself as well as I should've," James said. "It did a number on my health."

"Which is why you're never taking study tips from him," Thomas said. 

"I'm not taking study tips from you either," Patsy said. "Just 'cause your mind works in a weird way that lets you learn six languages and, I don't know, ten different fields of study, you think that's how everyone's mind should work."

Thomas couldn't dispute that. It was kind of true.

After breakfast came washing up, which Thomas had long since given up on trying to get James not to help out with. God knew he hated doing the dishes, but it was less crappy with James there, as tended to happen with most things in Thomas's life these days.

Somehow he'd managed to go the whole morning without dwelling on that little thing James had said last night. Everything about it had taken on a dreamlike quality. Like something distant and unreal. 

James hadn't brought it up, not even in that brief time they were alone together, so Thomas figured it wasn't all that important in the grand scheme of things. Which he knew to be bullshit the moment he thought it, since, as out of touch as he was with this whole romance thing, he knew "I love you" tended to be a pretty damn big milestone. Maybe not with some people who'd cheapened the concept, but this was James. There was no chance in hell that James would go and declare something that big if he didn't think he meant it.

After that chore was concluded, Thomas escorted James to the door for their customary goodbye kiss, and for the most part it looked like everything would go as they'd gotten used to. But this time James hesitated, so small and slight that Thomas wouldn't have caught it if he wasn't attuned to James's every mannerism. 

"I love you," James said.

The words hit that much harder in broad daylight. Good to know Thomas hadn't dreamed it.

"We really need to get you some practice with saying that," Thomas said.

"It's that obvious?" 

"I think it's cute," Thomas said with a grin, which James would know to be as good as a yes. "But I'm definitely not objecting to any time you want to say it."

"I'm thinking of imposing a daily quota," James said. "Once over text, and once in person. That should be enough."

Thomas gave him a withering look to show exactly what he thought of that, and James chuckled and kissed him and left, and Thomas shut the door behind him and tried to process any part of it.

James loved him. Thomas had somehow done something to — deserve it? Was that the right word? At any rate, he was pretty fucking sure he didn't deserve it. Even though James had gone and given this to him, asking nothing in return, he couldn't say it back. Even though _darlin'_ left his mouth as easily as _sweetheart_ had back when Martha was alive, he couldn't say it back. 

And then Thomas started thinking about a whole host of other things about James, things from just that morning and the day before that felt like _reasons_ , if love ever had a reason. He kept going back to the sleepy way James had smiled at him that morning — once James had stopped being belligerent in the alarm clock's general direction, that was. Thomas wanted to see that smile. Every morning for as long as he lived.

He might not have been ready to say _I love you_ to James yet, but if things went on like this, he wasn't sure how much longer that'd be true.

* * *

Patsy graduated on a warm day in late May, on the school's football field.

Thomas had heard that some parents cried at their kid's high school graduation, but he wasn't sure he could even still cry properly; his tearducts had gone on strike after Martha's death and vowed never to work for him again after what he'd put them through. But when Patsy took the stage, he got a little misty-eyed for the first time in a long, long while.

He clapped obnoxiously loudly for her from the bleachers once he got over how jarring it was to hear her name called out as "Martha Jefferson". He'd never get used to seeing that in official contexts. Some days he forgot she wasn't Patsy Jefferson on her birth certificate.

After the ceremony ended and the families flooded the football pitch, Thomas spent a while being Patsy's proud, beaming father. Hugging and picture-taking and forcibly restraining himself from telling her in front of everyone that he was sure that, if she'd been class valedictorian, she could've given a better speech than the insipid, clichéd mess they'd all been forced to put up with instead. 

Patsy's friends started coming over and wanting pictures with her, so Thomas stepped back and let them at it — and then Maria tugged on his sleeve and said, "Look, it's Mr Madison," and Thomas's attention, as always, was diverted.

While seated in the bleachers, he'd found himself scanning the mass of people on the field for James. He'd spotted James during the ceremony, seated and solemn (then again, anyone would've been solemn if they'd had to sit next to motherfucking Callender; how that trashy tabloid writer turned English teacher still had gainful employment at a good private school, Thomas had no idea, and it certainly wasn't due to lack of effort on Thomas's part). From what Thomas could see, James did in fact act like he was attending a funeral even though he was at a high school graduation ceremony. He'd gotten so used to his James, the James who made him laugh until he couldn't breathe.

And now James was there, standing by the bleachers. Thomas didn't know how Maria had managed to spot him in that seething throng of people, but he wasn't about to complain. 

Thomas excused himself delicately (at least _he_ was discreet about this whole thing; he was pretty sure he'd heard Maria say, "Dad's going to see his boyfriend" to Patsy in front of a whole bunch of Patsy's friends) and walked over to James.

James watched him approach. There was something between them: a cold, clear awareness that this was a far cry from the context they usually saw each other in. Here, nothing was highlighted more prominently than James being Patsy's teacher, and Thomas being her father.

"Mr Madison," Thomas said. 

"Mr Jefferson."

They could've been like this, Thomas realised. Just another teacher, just another parent. It would've been so easy for circumstances to shape themselves like that. So easy for James not to have approached him that first time, so easy for Thomas not to have offered to take James out for dinner the second time. But it'd happened anyway, and now Thomas didn't know how to live with anything but what they had.

Part of him wanted to let everyone know. He wanted to shout it to the rooftops. After today, James would no longer be _his daughter's teacher_ , and Thomas would no longer be _a student's parent_. They could be themselves.

Now if only Thomas could make himself say this one thing.

He bit his lip, and he saw the way James's eyes flickered to his mouth before James firmly tore his gaze back up. Thomas suppressed a smirk. Good to know that, even on a crowded football field, surrounded by hundreds of other people, he could wreak havoc with James's rock-solid professionalism.

And still he hesitated. Trying to think of how to put this thing he wouldn't have been able to make himself say anywhere but here.

"I realised I never thanked you for what you did for Patsy," Thomas said. "Not properly."

Understanding dawned on James's face.

"I mean, God knows that kid did most of the work herself in the end," Thomas went on. "But you gave her a push in the right direction. And you believed in her. And all that finally made her get it together and stop hyperventilating every time she thought about college, so...thanks."

"As you said, I think Patsy did most of the work there," James said. "But it's been a pleasure to be her teacher, and I'm proud of her for all she's accomplished." He didn't quite smile — did James also put a quota on how much he was allowed to smile when he had his teacher-face on? — but his expression softened. "She's a remarkable young woman. And I think that you did a wonderful job in supporting her."

For one disturbing moment, Thomas thought his tearducts were even less broken than he'd thought, but of course it turned out to be a false alarm. Still. It'd stopped being a constant refrain in his head like it had in the early days — the repeated _Martha would've done a better job_ whenever the whole single parenting thing got to be too much — but he couldn't remember the last time someone else made him feel like he'd pulled through and done all right.

Which wasn't an excuse for getting emotional about it. Even if it was from James. Pull yourself together, Thomas.

"Oh, I know I did a great job," Thomas said. "And I don't share the credit for that often. But you — you're a good teacher."

James was silent for a bit. "I think I might be the first to hear that from you. Thank you." This time he did smile. And Thomas smiled back.

It was James who extended his hand for a handshake. Thomas accepted. What followed could've been dismissed by a casual observer as accidents, inconsequential touches: the light stroke of James's thumb against the back of Thomas's hand, the way the handshake lingered a few seconds longer than necessary, the way their fingertips brushed against each other even as they pulled away.

Thomas left James standing there.

"There you are," Patsy said when he reappeared. 

"I was picking a fight with that Government teacher of yours," Thomas said.

She rolled her eyes and went back to taking a picture with another girl who'd appeared out of nowhere and insisted on being photographed with her. 

Thomas took out his phone. Hopefully James had taken his off silent now that the ceremony was over.

 **Thomas:** _Do you think anyone noticed me saying nice things to a teacher  
I have a reputation to uphold_

The reply came fast. 

**James:** _Don't worry. Considering your usual modus operandi, they must have all thought you were verbally flaying me and refused to listen out of respect for my dignity._

Thomas considered continuing that line of banter, then discarded the idea. And so, instead:

 **Thomas:** _Come over tonight? We're celebrating._

 **James:** _I wouldn't miss it._

* * *

Since Thomas got no such thing as summer break, he was used to thinking of it in terms of an exponential increase in the amount of time the girls spent lounging around the house being useless. That or, in Maria's case, pestering him to drive her places.

This time around, summer break meant something else: James. Although they'd talked about this enough that Thomas knew it wasn't as much of a vacation as it should've been — James insisted he spent time planning his lessons for the next year, and that he also took up freelance editing work to supplement his income — the fact remained that James was no longer on the same schedule as before. Now they were free to see each other instead of having to arrange it around school hours and weekends.

Or at least Thomas would be free once he'd flown back home with the girls and managed to get attending his little sister's wedding out of the way. Apparently Anne had a fixation on being a June bride.

With the date growing nearer, Thomas had gotten used to his sisters calling to harass him. So when he got a call from Jane as he was waiting in his car for Maria to emerge from her friend's house, he wasn't surprised. Jane called more and more often these days, ostensibly because she "just wanted to chat", but more likely to remind him about Anne's wedding, as if she thought he'd skip out on it if she didn't impress upon him how important it was.

"For the last time, yes, I remembered to buy them a wedding present," Thomas said the moment the call started.

Jane said nothing for so long that Thomas wondered if there was something wrong with the call. Then: "Actually, I was curious about the text you just sent me."

"Eh? I didn't send you a text." The only person he'd been texting just now was— James. Fuck. That was how his contact list went, wasn't it. James. Jane. 

Sometimes his life felt like it was composed of bad reruns. He was vividly reminded of how, years ago, he'd had to change the name of one of his sisters in his contact list to "Sister Martha", like he was friends with a nun or something, because Martha-his-sister had declared she would scream if she got one more message he'd meant to send his wife. And now this.

Surprising he'd gotten this far without making this mistake before. Come to think of it, he'd once texted James "Ok, sis" and gotten a single condemning question mark in return, but he hadn't stopped to consider what might happen if he fucked up the other way around. 

"You did send me a text," Jane said, her tone all too pleasant. "A text reading, and I quote, 'Can't wait for you to spend the night again, darling. Winky face.'"

So. Not as bad as it could've been, but still pretty fucking bad.

"Weeell," Thomas said at last, drawing it out nice and long. "Obviously that wasn't for you."

"Obviously it wasn't." She was using that tone again. The one she'd used when they were little kids and she was trying to tell him she knew he was full of crap, but if he wanted to keep digging himself deeper then she was happy to watch him do it.

"It's not what it sounds like," Thomas said.

"Oh, this'll be good."

"I'm serious, Janey," Thomas said. "A joke meant for a friend. No big deal." The lie rolled off his tongue with ease. As it should've.

Jane sighed. When she spoke again, her voice was gentler. "You don't have to keep it from us if you're seeing someone."

Maria slid into the passenger seat, and Thomas tried to think of something to say.

"For the last time, I'm not seeing anyone," Thomas said.

Maria scrunched up her face, more than a little judgemental. 

"Tommy," Jane began, but he'd already gone on.

"I—" _Know y'all think I'm some sort of failure for not producing another mom for my kids on time._ No. Not saying that. Not with Maria around. "I'm a busy man, Jane. I don't have time for that."

Maria was _definitely_ judging him now.

"I believe you," Jane said. "I just thought...we've given you such a hard time about it in the past, haven't we? I didn't want you to feel like you had to keep anything from us." 

She might've had a strange way of going about that, but Thomas knew she meant well. Which didn't mean he had to tell her anything.

"Seriously. Not hiding anything," Thomas said. It was interesting to watch Maria's eyebrows rise higher and higher with every word he spoke. "Now can we get back to Anne's wedding?"

For once, Jane didn't have anything new to say on the subject. She'd only called to harass him about the mislaid text message. Thomas said bye and put his phone down. "Go on, honey. I know you want to comment."

"You're the one who told me it's wrong to lie," Maria said. He'd expected sarcasm, but now that she'd gotten over frowning at him, she just seemed curious. 

"No, I'm the one who told you to say it's wrong to lie if anyone ever asks because people are going to think I'm a morally-bankrupt parent if they find out I told you there are situations where you have to lie," Thomas said. "But there are. And that was one of them."

"Why can't you tell Aunt Jane about Mr Madison?" 

"With Patsy as your sister, I have a hard time believing you don't know the answer to that question."

"But that doesn't make any sense, 'cause you've heard Aunt Jane talking about this stuff. She doesn't think it's a big deal."

"Who's to say that'd still be the case if it was me?" Thomas said. He reached for his phone again to resend the text that'd never reached James. "It's complicated. This isn't the right time to tell them."

"Does Mr Madison's family know he's dating you?"

They did. James hadn't gone into great detail on the subject, but he'd broken the news to them a while ago and they'd said they wouldn't mind meeting Thomas any time it was possible. Which Thomas did not feel even remotely prepared to deal with, but nobody involved seemed to find it a pressing concern, so he didn't have anything to worry about yet.

"That's different," Thomas said. "For a start, his family's known for ages that he's straight as a spiral staircase."

"Oh," Maria said, voice small. "But that's so sad. About Aunt Jane, that is. I mean, she'd like Mr Madison a lot if she met him."

"I'm sure she would, honey."

"So you're never gonna tell everyone?"

This he had to think about. Every time he tried to even consider approaching the subject, his mind shied away from it. It wasn't that he had anything to worry about. His siblings could grumble about it all they liked, but that wouldn't make a difference in how he did things.

Pathetically enough, he realised exactly what he was scared of: what they'd think of him. Or, more aptly, what they'd think of his relationship with Martha. It was all too easy to see where they'd go and re-frame his marriage, turning every single ounce of genuine love he'd had for her into something cheap and empty. Because he was now with a man, so everything that'd come before had been a sham. A façade.

That, or they'd think _this_ was the sham and he was having an early mid-life crisis. Thomas didn't know which idea he found more distasteful.

He still hadn't answered Maria.

"We'll see," Thomas said.

* * *

Logically speaking, Thomas knew he had no reason to feel bad about lying to maintain the status quo. But it was one thing to dismiss the whole thing as a necessity, and quite another to see James in person and be forcibly reminded that he'd gone and erased the role James played in his life, thereby misrepresenting the state of things to a degree he'd never managed before.

Not something that warranted mentioning, Thomas told himself.

It came up anyway. They'd been cuddling on James's couch, and Thomas had happened to mention that he'd have to fly back to the family home to attend his little sister's wedding, and James had started asking about her. And so Thomas had ended up telling him the truth, which was that although he was on okay terms with both Anne and her twin brother Randy, they'd never been close — the twins had been all of eight years old when Patsy was born, and it was hard to relate to someone as a sibling when living miles away and being at such a radically different stage of life to them.

Thomas had told James about his family before, of course. Mostly in the context of having _far too many goddamn sisters_ , but anyway. This time around, he'd started noticing the differences in the way he talked about his own family and the way James talked about his own family. When James did it, he always made it sound like Thomas would meet them eventually, and he was just readying Thomas for the inevitable; when Thomas talked about his siblings, they might as well have been on the fucking moon for all the good it did James. All this time, he'd been operating under the assumption that his siblings and James were two circles of a non-intersecting Venn diagram.

There was no way James didn't notice, but he didn't push it. Thomas wondered if this compartmentalisation bothered him. Everything about the kind of person James was said he wouldn't exactly be bursting at the seams to meet Thomas's siblings and become the part of the family, but at the same time, the whole family thing was pretty important from a certain perspective.

Just to test out how James felt about the idea, Thomas said, "Shame you can't come. Having you as a plus-one would've made it more lively."

He hadn't realised how true the words were until he said them, but James's reaction was impossible to read.

"A wedding seems like a less than ideal occasion to spring your entire family on me," James said. 

"Spring you on them, you mean," Thomas said. "My family's under the impression I'm still single. Which I might've reinforced as recently as yesterday, since I was put in a position where I had to misrepresent my relationship status."

"You were put in a position." James sounded amused.

"I sent my sister a text meant for you." Seeing the alarm on James's face, he hastily added, "No, no, it was one of the decent ones."

Strictly speaking, this was true. It could've been a lot worse. Suggestive winky face notwithstanding.

"How does that happen?" 

"Her name's Jane, so you're right on top of her in my contacts list," Thomas said. "Maybe I'll just change your name in my phone. Something obnoxious like _'Mon chéri'_ with a bunch of heart emoticons around it."

"I think they're called emojis now."

Thomas waved his hand dismissively. "This decade moves too damn fast for me." He looked at James, and James looked back at him as he often did, fond and exasperated and not with a hint of hurt at all. Yet Thomas still felt the urge to explain.

"It's not that I'm _ashamed_ of you, darlin'," Thomas said. "Just, delicate situation."

"I know," James said. "I've been closeted. You shouldn't feel like you have to come out for my sake."

So James was...okay with this? Or very good at sounding like he was okay with this. He didn't seem fussed either way. At the moment, he appeared more interested in making the already absurdly nice way he was holding Thomas's hand even more unfair by way of some strategic caressing.

"The more _I_ think about it, the more it pisses me off," Thomas said. "When's the next time I'm going to get to show you off to a bunch of people who know me?"

"You just want to see me in a suit again."

"That too," Thomas said. "But I'm also the type of person who likes to flaunt a good thing when he's got it, and you strike me as being very flaunt-worthy." 

"I've never thought of myself as the sort of person who gets flaunted."

Sometimes Thomas wanted to track down every asshole James had ever dated and have strong words with them. "Are you kidding? Sometimes I look at you and wonder how the fuck I got this lucky."

"Well," James said. "There's a first time for everything."

They were quiet for a bit. Then Thomas said, "I thought you'd mind more. Me lying about being with you, that is."

"They're your family," James said. "I wouldn't have to deal with anything that happened if you told them. You would. With those stakes, I figure I don't have any right to complain. Besides, I never expected it from you in the first place."

"So noble," Thomas said, and it only sank in a moment later — what did James mean, he _never expected it_ from Thomas?

"It's pragmatism."

Thomas elected not to expend the energy it would take to roll his eyes at that. "Sorry if I'm clumsy with all of this stuff about people knowing. I'm still getting used to this whole...gay thing."

James opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it.

Thomas sat up. "Say it. I sound like a clueless straight guy, is that right?"

"I wouldn't say that," James said. "Whatever else you might be, you're definitely not straight."

"You sound awfully sure of that," Thomas said, just to be difficult.

In response, James tilted Thomas's face up with one hand and kissed him. And, well. Thomas was definitely not straight. Actually, he'd never felt less straight in his life, what with the way James had moved on to kissing his neck as if to really drive the point home. If James wanted to keep supporting his hypothesis, Thomas wasn't gonna complain.

Well, maybe he could complain about one thing.

"Use some conditioner on your fucking beard," Thomas said. "It's itchy again."

For that, he got prickly chin-scruff rubbing against his skin more deliberately because James was in the mood to be an asshole. Not that Thomas could stay annoyed about a bit of chafing when James's mouth was doing such nice things. Although he seemed to have forgotten it was now summer and therefore Thomas was shit out of luck if he got marks in places only a scarf could cover; the kisses were growing more insistent.

"Careful," Thomas murmured. Which didn't stop him from tilting his head, just a little, to give James better access. "Can't exactly show up to a family gathering covered in hickeys."

James stopped what he was doing long enough to say, "Don't violinists sometimes get a bruise from playing? Right about here."

"Now I— _ah._ " Thomas sighed. "Now I know why you wanted me to pick up the violin again. You were playing the long game. It was all a clever ruse. A— _mff._ " James's mouth was on his and he couldn't say anything more. Probably for the best. Thomas was starting to find out that, of the two of them, James had a better sense of when Thomas needed to shut the hell up.

* * *

Time to go home.

Coming home — his childhood home — always felt strange. Thomas had spent so many years making something of himself and seeing himself a certain way: architect, father to two amazing girls, polyglot, polymath, generally a big fucking deal. All that fell away the moment he stepped back home, replaced by other perceptions of him clouded by memory. In the way most distant family members gained a reputation in the form of an adjective, he didn't think he'd stopped being "the depressed one" since Martha's death.

Coming home also served as a reminder that his family was rich. In his day to day life, Thomas didn't think of himself as particularly wealthy. Not as much as he would've liked, anyway — that being private jet, holiday home in Paris, estate the size of Louisiana. When he set eyes on the family mansion, though, he had to concede they were well off. And, since he hadn't managed to finagle himself a way to attend the ceremony and reception while skipping all the stuff that came before, he and the girls would be staying in said mansion for the night before the wedding.

It was chaos from the moment they set foot in the house. Good thing the place was so big because his sisters and their families were _everywhere_. Everything was happening at once: Lucy and Martha arguing about who'd be monitoring Randy's alcohol intake throughout the reception so he wouldn't make a fool of himself; Anne, as the bride-to-be, being fussed over by Mary and Bet; Jane, trying to pull off the minor miracle of keeping them all together, as was her role as the oldest and the most responsible and the one who lived in the family home.

In between, she scrutinised Thomas in a way that told him he wasn't off the hook for the texting mishap. He was just glad James had toned it down enough that the violin excuse was no longer necessary.

After dinner, everyone's respective spouses and children were shooed away so Jane could gather her dear siblings together for some quality time, just the eight of them. At some point she decided that conversation would be much improved by bringing out the wine. It was the good stuff, and for the first time in a while, Thomas decided he could partake of a glass or two.

It started out normal enough, with the other women teasing Anne about the upcoming nuptials. In retaliation, she turned on Randy and made jokes about how it'd be his turn next, at which point Randy explained that he didn't do commitment, in the way only a man of twenty-six could. Because Randy was the conversational equivalent of a bull in a china shop despite all his good intentions, he ended up protesting by saying, "Why're y'all so eager to see me get hitched? Shouldn't you try and get Tom a date first?"

All the sisters fell silent. They fixed their eyes on Thomas warily. Randy, always a few seconds late to catch on, looked like it was dawning on him that he might've put his foot in it. He opened his mouth, no doubt to apologise.

Thomas decided to spare him the misery. He'd realised something: it rankled on him, the way they felt like they had to handle this subject with him. The way it seemed like he'd been permanently consigned in their minds to never finding love again. And that wasn't true. He didn't want anyone to think it was. Just like he didn't want James, of all people, to have filed him away as being content to let his family think him unable to move on; filed him away as _I never expected it from you in the first place_. That wasn't how Thomas was going to present himself. Surely he had a better act than that.

So he went ahead and did what he'd all but made up his mind to do back in James's living room those few days ago.

"That'd be redundant," Thomas drawled, "since I'm already taken."

Maybe he shouldn't have sat so close to Jane. She was seated in a prime position to whirl on him. "Tommy, you said you weren't!"

"Might've told a little white lie."

"That lie," Jane said, "was neither little nor white."

The others looked like this was the best entertainment they'd heard of all evening. Which it kind of was. 

Mary turned to Martha, whispered something. Then turned back to him. "So how long have you been sneaking around behind our backs, Tommy?" she said.

"Six months," Thomas said. "Or thereabouts." 

"What's she going to think, you not bringing her to your sister's wedding?" Martha sounded disapproving.

And there were the pronouns. A reasonable assumption given the context, but not encouraging.

"I think he," Thomas said, with deliberate emphasis on that last word, "understands why it'd be a bad idea, given the time, to, uh—" How'd he put it earlier? "—To spring y'all on him."

Were those actual crickets chirping, or was his mind making that up at this point?

One. Two. Three.

Randy broke the silence first. "Wow," he said, wide-eyed and earnest. "And everyone said _I'd_ turn out gay because I didn't have a strong male influence in my life."

Anne snatched his wineglass away. "I think you've had enough, _Randolph_." She turned to Thomas apologetically. "I'm sorry you couldn't bring him, Tommy. I would've liked to meet him." 

Mary and Martha were having an entire conversation with their eyes alone. Bet just shrugged and downed the rest of her glass. Jane changed the subject.

After that, the chatter resumed as normal, if a bit stilted. Thomas hadn't exactly invited further discussion, so none was forthcoming. Mary and Martha were looking at him like they really, really wanted to ask if he'd just made a bad joke after a bit too much wine, but at the same time were too polite to ask that question.

It was Jane who asked in the end, after all the rest of them had filtered out and gone to bed. Being alone with Jane always felt slightly off. They'd been close when he was younger, but they'd drifted. He loved Jane, of course he did, and even now he would've said she was his favourite sibling, but time had these nasty little erosional properties that fucked things up.

And now it was just the two of them, and she looked like didn't quite know what to say.

"Well?" Thomas said.

"Back there. Were you being serious?"

"It's a funny thing. Sometimes I pretend to date random men for kicks."

"No need for sarcasm, Thomas," she said sharply. Then her expression softened. "I just never knew you were...like that."

"Well, hey. If you don't know, now you know." 

"You seemed to love her so much."

There. The words he'd dreaded. Luckily, the wine dulled any sting. "They aren't...what's the thing that's like diametrically opposed, but with probability?"

She furrowed her brow. "Mutually exclusive?" She seemed disconcerted. Thomas didn't blame her. In her experience, tipsy Thomas with a strangely specific vocabulary was one step removed from tipsy Thomas who started solving physics equations for fun. (They'd had a few fun family gatherings.)

"Right. That," Thomas said. "They're not mutually exclusive, Janey."

"So you like women. And men." Jane took a deep breath. "All right. I can understand that. Though it'll take some getting used to." Her hands were fidgeting in her lap. "What's his name?"

"James."

"Do the girls know?"

"A lot longer than y'all have, that's for sure," Thomas said. "Trust me. Everyone's met everyone, it's all good."

"It must be strange for them," Jane said — and Thomas couldn't help but frown at her. "No, I didn't mean _that_ , exactly. Just that you've...if you were being honest, this is the first time since..."

"He's the first," Thomas said. "And, yeah, it was strange, because. He was Patsy's teacher until recently."

"Oh, Tommy, you didn't." 

Thomas grinned at her, as unrepentant as it was possible for a person to be. "I regret nothing." 

Jane swatted him on the arm. "You never make these things easy for yourself, do you?" She didn't even give him time to protest that it wasn't by choice before she steamrolled on. "This James of yours..."

"Trust me, Janey, you don't want me to get into this unless I'm sober."

She wrinkled her nose. "Yes, I think I'll save the real questioning for another time, thank you. But he must be something special."

Thomas couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face. "Believe me, he is."

* * *

The next morning, getting ready for the wedding and putting on his suit made Thomas feel dapper enough that he couldn't resist the urge to send James a picture in hopes of getting James worked up. Which backfired spectacularly when James texted back saying, _Looks good. Wish I could be there to help you out of it at the end of the day._ Or at least that was the mildest of the texts he sent. There were a few. Polite and diplomatic, as was James's style, in contrast to the unrestrained filth Thomas got up to when left to his own devices, but _damn_ , could James get his point across.

Thomas was going to have words with James about that. Because trying to make a guy all hot and bothered right before his sister's wedding? That was just not on.

In the end, it was a perfectly fine wedding, and Thomas wished Anne and what's-his-name all the happiness in the world. After the ceremony, when the dancing started, he and his daughters sat at their table and watched people dance before Patsy spoke up.

"It's fucked up," Patsy said.

Thomas gave her a glare of reprimand over the top of his glasses. (He never would've worn those to a wedding before, but James's appreciation for them made him a lot more comfortable skipping the contacts some days.)

"You swear more than I do!"

"Yes, but not in front of Maria," Thomas said.

"She hears worse at school."

"That's true," Maria said.

Thomas made mental note of the fact that he might have to speak with the parents of a few sixth-graders. "All right, young lady. Enlighten me about the reason for this outburst."

"It's fucked up that Junior can bring his girlfriend of a month to Aunt Anne's wedding, but you can't even tell people about Mr Madison."

Considering Junior's parents had named him "Dabney" (as if _one_ Dabney Carr running around wasn't bad enough), Thomas thought Junior managing to get a girlfriend for any length of time needed to be celebrated, but there were more important things at hand than his nephew's love life. "I'm guessing Maria told you I'd been fibbing."

Patsy crossed her arms. "I'm not mad with you, Dad. I'm mad with society."

Sensing she wasn't done, Thomas waited.

"It's just," Patsy said. "I was thinking, and even though I don't have a girlfriend any more—"

"Wait, what happened to Prom Girl?"

"We broke up ages ago because she's going to college all the way in California, but that's not the point," Patsy said. "The point is, even if we were together, I never would've been able to bring her. Because if even _you're_ scared to come out to them..." She trailed off.

Shit. Thomas had been so busy thinking about himself, he'd forgotten what example his daughters might've been taking from this.

"Actually, honey," Thomas said, "I told them last night."

Before Patsy could open her mouth to _whaaat_ at this, Randy popped up out of nowhere, wringing his hands.

"So, uh," Randy said. "Me and the girls were talking, after what you told Jane last night, and, to tell you the truth it's all gonna take some getting used to, but Mary got concerned, she thought the whole wedding thing might be, uh, alienating to your lifestyle—"

Patsy recovered enough to cough loudly, and Randy's expression was pure _oh shit_ as realisation hit him like a truck.

"Not saying it's a lifestyle," he amended hastily. "I mean, I know some people don't like that, and— look, I swear I know what I'm talking about, I just, I took one whole Gender Studies class once. But. Yeah, so we were thinking, Anne's doing the whole bouquet and garter toss thing, and you know how it's, the person who catches it is gonna be the next person to get married? We thought — you should know that you shouldn't feel excluded by that or anything, because. It's now legal in all fifty states, bro."

Dear God.

Thomas had so many questions, chief among them being about when the fuck they'd gathered together to discuss this. And, more worryingly, why _Randy_ was the messenger when any of his sisters could've done a better job. He had a sneaking suspicion that, even if they told themselves they'd live with it, they weren't yet at the point where they could look him in the eye and talk to him about it. But even then, Jane could've— actually, it wouldn't have surprised Thomas if this was her doing. Her way of trying to get him to see that she wasn't the only one who was okay with it, that his other siblings were processing it in their own ways.

"I wasn't planning on going near that particular event," Thomas said, "but thanks, Randy. It's real nice that y'all were so considerate."

"Okay," Randy said, sagging with relief. "Cool."

"Uncle Randy, I'm a lesbian," Patsy said.

"That's...also cool?" Randy gave her an awkward thumbs up, then scuttled off.

"What just happened," Maria said.

Thomas shrugged. "I'd say they're trying, wouldn't you?" 

"That was a mess," Patsy said. "Oh my God. I didn't even mean to come out."

"You _never_ mean to come out," Maria said. "That was the fifth time. I'm counting."

"Well, Patsy, you can be sure that Uncle Randy gets it," Thomas said. "He took one whole Gender Studies class once."

He'd hoped to elicit at least a smile with that, but Patsy said, "You don't get to make that joke, Dad. It's the kind of thing you'd say."

"That's not true," Maria said. "As if Dad would bother taking a Gender Studies class in the first place."

It was officially going to be a long, long night.

* * *

In some ways, Thomas felt like a weight had been lifted, but in other ways, it was...normal. He was anticipating follow-up conversations with his sisters once they'd had more time to wrap their heads around it (his sisters, because he was pretty sure that Randy had done his time), but for the most part, not a whole lot had changed. At least not on the outside.

Except it had. Maybe the last shred that'd been holding him back was the knowledge that everyone else thought he couldn't move on. And he'd proven them wrong. Actually, he'd sort of proven _himself_ wrong, and...suffice it to say, he had news for James. 

Wanting to make his return a surprise was why he threw practicality to the wind and appeared at James's place in the middle of the day after he arrived. He probably should've texted first to make sure James was home. It wasn't James who answered the door. Instead, it was a rather familiar woman.

Thomas had never seen her in person before, only in pictures on James's phone. They hadn't done her justice. She was pretty, but there was something to her none of the pictures had captured, and he saw it best when she saw him and her face lit up in a charming smile. "You must be Thomas Jefferson."

"And you must be Dolley." It irked him a little that he couldn't remember her surname when she knew his.

"Dolley Payne, and it's very nice to meet you. If you're looking for James, you missed him by...oh, it must've been five minutes. Bad luck." She shook her head sympathetically. "Want to come in and wait for him? He said he wouldn't take all that long, but who knows how true that'll be."

"Sure, I'd like to come in," Thomas said. And just like that, he felt like a guest at James's place despite the countless times he'd been there before. Now it was like Dolley was his hostess. She seemed comfortable, like she'd already started to make herself at home. 

"I'm sorry he's not around," she said. "He would've been, but then I persuaded him to make cinnamon rolls — have you tried them? They're _marvellous_. Anyway, he realised he was out of a few key ingredients. Which is why we're now having this conversation without him introducing us first. I have to say, I wasn't expecting you."

Her easy-going, chatty manner might've fooled someone else, but the way she looked at him was too close to scrutiny to be purely friendly. Which was to be expected. Depending on how much James had told her, it surprised Thomas there was no outright hostility thrown into the mix.

"Wasn't expecting to meet you like this either," Thomas said. "Matter of fact, I'm not sure I expected it at all."

"That happens," Dolley said. "James's boyfriends tend to get scared if he talks about me too much. They start thinking I'll pop out of nowhere and give threatening talks about how I'll maim them while they sleep if they hurt him."

"So you're _not_ gonna give me a threatening talk about what'll happen to me if I hurt him? Good to know."

"I wasn't planning on it," she said. "We're all adults here, and James doesn't need me to intimidate his boyfriends for him. Besides, from what I've heard, I'd have had to make good on that threat before you two even got together."

Ouch. He hadn't been expecting _that._ "How much do you know about our little soap opera, exactly?" Maybe they should've moved on through some nice normal getting-to-know-you topics before they jumped right into this, or maybe he could've done that more subtly, but he wanted to know where he stood with her. At the moment, it seemed like the only safe thing to do, if she was so willing to pull out a line like that.

"Enough that when he was talking about getting you something for Christmas, I told him not to even bother with coal." She said it in such a matter-of-fact way. Still polite, still charming, but she was watching him. As if to see if he'd get pissy about it.

Thomas grinned at her, a little sheepish. Trying to hit the right notes. "I thought I'd be getting coal too."

Dolley laughed. She had a sweet laugh, clear and infectious. "I have to tell you, I spent this whole time with a bit of a grudge against you because I don't like it when people hurt my dearest friend, but he's head-over-heels for you so there's obviously _something_ there." She tapped her fingers against the kitchen counter. "We were just discussing you, actually. You should see the look on his face when he talks about you. Like he's about to start composing a sonnet."

If that didn't make Thomas all fluttery.

"I'm still trying to figure it out," Dolley mused, leaning her hip against the counter. "This'd be a lot easier if he had a type, so I could look at you and say, oh, of course James would like him. But his dating history's all over the place."

"Go on."

"I'm not spilling the details if you don't know them already," she said, but she grinned at him as she did to let him know there were no hard feelings. "It's just strange. He spent most of college crushing on these quiet, serious guys, and then he went and got with Alex, who was anything _but_ quiet..." She caught Thomas's expression, which probably resembled a storm cloud more than anything else. "Anyway! Now there's you." 

"Well," Thomas said. "This has been an awfully blunt first conversation."

"While we're being blunt, can I say something else?" Dolley said. "Most of James's exes have been so insecure about our friendship. Like they think I'm harbouring some secret passion for him and I can't wait to ruin all his relationships. Don't get me wrong, I adore Je— James, you know how it is. He's my soulmate, our hearts understand each other, etcetera. But it's not like that."

"Can't say I ever found myself worried about that," Thomas said, "but it seems like a reasonable thing to ask, since you two dated once upon a time."

"It's true I asked him out without knowing how gay he is. But after all this time, it'd feel _strange_ to think of us like that, you know? He's like family."

Thomas pondered this for a moment. At last he said, "So you don't think it's at least a _little_ attractive when he's wearing that one sweatervest that makes his shoulders look really—"

She held up her hands as if in surrender. "Stop talking. Please."

"Ma'am, I'm officially never gonna understand you, but okay."

Dolley laughed again, and there was something easier in it this time. "I'm sorry, I've been a terrible hostess, haven't I? Dumping all this on you, and I didn't even offer you a drink." She went over to the fridge. "I'd offer you a mint julep, but we're all out of bourbon, so. Lemonade?"

"James keeps lemonade around? That's new."

"It's mine," Dolley said. "I usually keep a pitcher around in the summer because my son loves it. And normally it'd be in _my_ fridge, but we're having a few technical difficulties right now, so I'm taking advantage of James's."

"In that case, sure, I'll have one," Thomas said. He didn't know what part of what she'd said to tackle first: son, or the fact that she was apparently staying nearby enough that taking advantage of James's fridge was a thing. Wait, was she staying _with_ him? Thomas hoped not. His favourite thing about James's place was that it was always good for an afternoon quickie, and he wasn't exactly eager to change that.

"So how long are you visiting for?" Thomas said. Visiting was the only logical conclusion, since she'd been nowhere in the vicinity the last time he heard about her from James.

"I live here."

"Say what?"

"Not _here_ here, so you don't need to worry," Dolley said, in a way that said she knew exactly what he'd been worried about. "I just moved, and now I live down the hall. I've been meaning to join James for a while, but I didn't get a good time last year and I wanted to wait until summer. To make the transition easier for my son."

"James didn't mention you had a son," Thomas said. Actually, James hadn't mentioned that Dolley was moving there either, which seemed like the sort of drastic change Thomas should've been informed about. 

"His name's John, but he's going through this phase where he insists you have to call him Payne. He's seven." She poured lemonade first into one glass, then another. "You've got kids yourself, I hear."

No mention of John-call-me-Payne having a dad, which Thomas took to mean deceased or not in the picture. He wasn't about to ask. 

"Two," Thomas said. "Patsy and Maria. Patsy's eighteen, and Maria's eleven."

"Oh, good. You can give me tips on how to deal with the teenage years. Are they as tough as people say?"

Thomas shuddered. "Worse."

"Now I'm worried." Dolley passed him one of the glasses, then held hers up as if for a toast. "To single parenthood. Though you're not all that single."

As he clinked his glass against hers, Thomas thought it was entirely possible he'd passed some kind of test. He didn't know Dolley nearly well enough to say whether she liked him or not, but since she was part of James's life and there'd be no getting rid of her, getting along with her was the ideal scenario. And so far that was going all right — Dolley suggested they make themselves at home on the couch (she wouldn't have been so eager if she knew what the poor couch had gone through), so they did, and then they talked. About things that fell outside the scope of the mutual connection they had in James, even.

Although the conversation lapsed back to him on more than one occasion. Like when Dolley started talking about her job as a wedding planner.

"I once told James that, if he ever meets the right guy, I'll refer him to someone who can plan his wedding, but I'm not doing it for him," Dolley said. "Knowing him, he'd want something really boring and traditional. All simple, nothing too flashy. That's never any fun for me."

That was news.

"Really," Thomas said. "He thinks that?" Nothing too flashy. How adorable. And how very _not happening_.

"Yes, thank you. I have even more reason to delegate that task now that I've met you," Dolley said, and Thomas put a hand over his heart as if she'd wounded him.

Despite getting wrapped up in the conversation as it went on, Thomas spared a moment to wonder where the hell James was, since it felt like he and Dolley had been chatting for ages without a single sign from the man himself. Just as he was wondering whether a phone call was in order, James appeared.

"Sorry I'm late, I..." James stopped right as he was walking through the door, carrying grocery bags filled with what were definitely more than the few "key ingredients" Dolley had mentioned. Wariness crossed his face like a shadow the moment he saw they'd met. "Thomas."

Thomas didn't bother trying not to look too eager as he got to his feet. "Finally. I was wondering where you were."

"I got held up," James said, setting the groceries down on the kitchen table. "And I see you've met Dolley."

"We were having a real nice talk about you," Thomas said, sidling over to him. "Jemmy."

It took a moment for James to register the nickname. He sighed.

"You told him," James said to Dolley. More of a statement than a question, as if he'd resigned himself to his fate.

"I didn't mean to," Dolley protested. "It slipped out."

Frankly, Thomas considered it some kind of victory that he'd gotten her to say that. Dolley, for whatever front she put up, was not a careless talker. If she didn't think he was all right on at least some level, she never would've let her guard down enough to say something that could've embarrassed James.

" _And_ you never told me you were Prom King," Thomas said. "I gotta say, next to 'Jemmy', that's the best thing I've heard all day."

"Anyone who was dating Dolley would've been Prom King," James said. "Considering she was on the prom committee, I'm not sure there wasn't corruption involved."

"Jemmy, I _was_ the prom committee," Dolley said.

"My point exactly."

"I think she likes me," Thomas stage-whispered to James.

"He passes inspection," Dolley said, rising off the couch. "For now." She glanced between them, where it was probably painfully obvious that Thomas wanted to get his hands on James but was refraining. "I should go over to my place and check on Payne. Be back in five minutes."

The moment the door shut behind her, they reached for each other at the same time. James slid an arm around Thomas's waist, pulling him closer, and Thomas leaned into the touch readily, reaching down to intertwine James's fingers with his.

For a fleeting second, he entertained the idea of starting by getting all argumentative about that little thing of James not mentioning that Dolley would be moving up here. Then he pushed the thought away. They could talk about that, but later. They hadn't seen each other in a few days. There were more important matters to deal with.

"I've got something to tell you," Thomas said.

"Hm?"

"I told my family about us," Thomas said. "It went better than expected. None of them seemed to have any real problem with it. They'll need time to get used to it, and they kept tripping up when talking about it, but. It's gonna be okay."

All this time, his eyes had been fixed on James, and what'd struck him was how James didn't seem surprised. Despite his assertion that he never expected it from Thomas in the first place, despite how much Thomas had gone on about how he wouldn't tell them — James didn't seem surprised. Almost like he'd been expecting it.

"Good," James said softly. "That's good."

"I hope you know this means you now have no excuse for skipping out," Thomas said. "Next time someone decides to have another goddamn family gathering..."

"I'm invited?"

"So invited it's not even funny."

James leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. Nothing more than a tease. "I can live with that."

Thomas was all too ready to turn that into a proper kiss, but he remembered that other thing he had to mention. Might've been difficult to get it out if he was preoccupied with kissing. He supposed it could've waited, but he'd waited long enough.

"One more thing," Thomas said.

James gave him a look of silent question.

"I love you," Thomas said, and after two months of not saying it back, nothing could feel better.

He was close enough that he felt James's quiet intake of breath. Then James said, "I love you too." And it was that easy, and then Thomas pulled him in for a kiss, long and slow and sweet.

"I've missed you," Thomas sighed, after. James's arms were around him, snug and secure.

"You were only gone for a couple of days."

"Don't care, get back here."

Considering they were on a deadline, it was unsurprising that Dolley came in and found them a few minutes later. They'd heard the door opening in time to pull away, but the combination of rumpled Thomas sitting on the kitchen counter and dazed James must've said enough.

"I'll have to learn to knock, won't I," Dolley said, sounding remarkably blasé about the whole thing.

"That'd be a good habit to get into, yeah," Thomas said. He glanced at James, who'd recovered enough to look embarrassed about Dolley finding them in that state. It was a shame they'd been interrupted — Thomas hadn't been anywhere near done with James. He had a feeling Dolley would've left them alone if he'd asked, but if he wanted to stay on her good side, he'd have to make some concessions. And so, after following the thought process a considerate person might take, he concluded she'd appreciate having some time with James after being away from him for so long. Which left only one thing for him to do.

"Don't let me impose any further," Thomas said, getting off the counter. "I'll just leave you two to catch up."

"Wait." James stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Come over tonight?"

"Count on it, darlin'."

On his way out, he stopped by Dolley. "You know, I had a pretty good time. We should do lunch one of these days."

She met his eyes, and in that moment he could see she saw the offering for exactly what it was. It was his way of saying, _I'm not going anywhere any time soon, and neither are you, so we'd best get used to each other._

She accorded him another charming smile. "I'm a busy woman, but let's see what we can work out."

* * *

Other than a few brief encounters, Thomas hadn't had much real experience with James's self-confessed weak constitution. And when James came down with a cold in the middle of July, Thomas started thinking maybe he didn't have a good enough grasp on the full extent of it just yet.

Despite his protests, he'd been barred from visiting while James was suffering. Even after James was no longer contagious, Thomas kept texting to ask if he could come over and was fended off with, _Not yet, I still have to wipe down the furniture._ If it wasn't mildly cruel, Thomas would've asked for a video. The mental image of a miserable, sniffly James fastidiously disinfecting everything in his apartment was more than he could handle. 

And now James was out of his self-imposed quarantine, but he still dodged out of the way when Thomas came too close as James opened the apartment door for him.

"Don't," James said. "I still feel disgusting."

"You're never disgusting to _me_ , darlin'."

"That's because you didn't see me a few days ago," James said. "It wasn't a pretty sight."

"You know I raised two kids, right? I've seen it all."

James shrugged and shuffled over to the couch. His TV screen was filled with images of wheat swaying rhythmically in the breeze.

"What're you watching?" Thomas said.

"A documentary about crop damage." James sat down rather heavily. He'd warned Thomas that he wasn't up to much more than sitting around at the moment, but Thomas had been prepared for that when he came over.

"Oh, look," Thomas said. "They're talking about Hessian fly. Move over, I know all about this shit."

James shifted to make room for Thomas on the couch. Thomas promptly wrapped an arm around James and pulled him close despite his feeble protests.

"You have any idea what I've been going through?" Thomas said. "It's hell not being able to see you."

"I didn't want to get you sick too," James said. "Especially since you don't live alone."

"That's true. Me getting sick wouldn't have been fun for anyone. The girls getting sick would've been worse. Still. Missed you." He snuggled closer. "You're getting enough rest?"

"Mm."

"Hydrating?"

"You don't have to go through the checklist with me, Thomas. I've been sick before." He sounded so absurdly petulant that Thomas laughed.

They sat in silence until the documentary ended. For a while, Thomas thought James had fallen asleep, but then James shifted in his arms.

And Thomas decided that, if he was going to ask, he might as well do it now. "James, you don't get _seriously_ sick, do you?"

"Define 'seriously'."

"As in hospital stay, life-threatening sick."

"I had a bad bout of pneumonia when I was in college," James said after a moment. "There were tubes everywhere."

"My God."

"That's the worst it ever got. Usually it's just colds and me being miserable."

"Oh," Thomas said. "That's fine, then."

He didn't say, _Martha used to get sick a lot too_. He didn't say, _The thought of losing you scares me shitless_.

"Fine that I'm miserable?" James said. But he put a hand on Thomas's wrist briefly, right before breaking out of Thomas's grasp to seize a tissue from the box on top of the coffee table and cough into it more times than could've been healthy.

Thomas pushed himself off the couch and went to get James glass of water, which James accepted. Thomas gave himself a mental pat on the back. Man, he was acing this whole romantic partner thing by taking care of James while he was sick.

It felt good. For about five seconds. Then, like a miniature hurricane, Dolley motherfucking Payne came through the door — actually let herself in with a spare key, which she had but Thomas somehow didn't — with about a ton of groceries.

"I got everything you asked for, Jemmy," she said brightly. "Hello, Thomas." 

Here was the thing about Dolley: Thomas liked her. He liked her a lot, even if the first part of her arrival had been characterised by Thomas being forced to rearrange the times he saw James because Dolley was suddenly monopolising him. That was fine. That was normal. They'd fixed it and settled into a routine that worked for them. 

What they hadn't managed to settle was how she sometimes blew into the place like an unexpected breeze, turning things upside down and, more to the point, upstaging Thomas.

"Thanks," James said, voice still creaky from his recent coughing fit. 

"You have to watch out for him, Thomas," Dolley said. "He gets rude when he's sick."

"I figured," Thomas said. "Since he chewed me out for trying to show basic concern."

"I did not."

"I'll be over later," Dolley said. "You get plenty of rest, now." And like that, she was gone.

Thomas stared in the direction she'd gone. "She been doing that a lot?"

"She came over a few times to make sure everything was okay."

"Oh, so _she_ gets to come over, but I'm at risk of contamination," Thomas said. "She gets to spend all that time with you and I don't. That's just fine and dandy."

"That sounded oddly jealous," James said, his tone mild.

Thomas bristled. "Me? Jealous of Dolley? That's absurd."

James raised an eyebrow. And Thomas caved, as one did when confronted with the eyebrow.

"Fine," Thomas said. " _Fine,_ maybe I'm a little jealous. Not in the _I think you're gonna cheat on me with her_ way, though, 'cause that's the biggest joke I've ever heard. I mean, Jesus. You're so gay it makes my head spin."

"Then why?" James sounded curious.

Thomas turned the words over in his mind, trying to think of how to put this. "Because you two are so fucking close? Because she's known you since forever. Because she's been there for so much of your life and sometimes it feels like I'm lagging behind." 

It sounded ridiculous even as he said it, and he half-expected James to mock him for it. But James knew how much these little moments of vulnerability cost Thomas, and so, though Thomas might've expected him to dismiss it, his gaze was soft and understanding.

"It's not a race, Thomas," James said.

"It's irrational is what it is, and I can't do anything about it." He ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing wrong with Dolley, by the way. She's great. But...I'm not used to having to share you."

James was quiet for a bit. "I'm not used to people wanting to be around me when I'm sick," he admitted at last. "I mean, there's Dolley, but she's always been there."

"I could be there if you _let_ me," Thomas said. "Don't you get it? I want to be there." 

"Well," James said. "All right." He was looking at Thomas differently, as if that whole thing had been some sort of revelation. Which...

"You're too much," Thomas said. "I fucking said I love you, and I _keep_ saying it, and it's somehow a surprise I'd still want to stick with you even in— even in—"

"In sickness and in health?" James said with a small smile.

Thomas did not feel even remotely equipped to go near that. "That's about it." He cuddled up to James again, and this time James didn't protest.

"What you said about Dolley," James said.

"Forget it. I was being ridiculous."

"Maybe we shouldn't forget it." He diplomatically didn't mention whether he also thought it was ridiculous or not.

"Dolley told me a few of your exes got all resentful of her," Thomas said. "Last thing I want is to be anything like some asshole who let you go."

He could hear the smile in James's voice. "You're already ahead of them for telling me instead of letting it pile up and getting all passive-aggressive at her when she's around. We've had a few experiences."

"I can imagine," Thomas said. "No, but seriously, I'll get over it." He paused for dramatic effect. "I guess I just can't handle how much I want you sometimes. All of you."

He'd thought that was pretty smooth, but James just sighed. "Let go of me. I think I'm going to cough again."

* * *

August meant one thing: time for Patsy to go off to college. With that would come a whole lot of necessary life changes.

In Thomas's less-than-humble opinion, he'd done everything right. He'd tried to be supportive throughout the whole process; tried not to feel too stung when she'd rejected the idea of attending his alma mater out of hand. And, when he dropped her off at college, he left quickly to give her time to settle in. He didn't look back.

Now he was back home, and he'd shut himself up in his study for the last several hours, and he was pretty sure Maria had shut herself up in her room, and he also knew that it'd be time for dinner soon and he needed to get that sorted sometime, but for the moment it was easier to work.

Oh, and he had a new text message.

 **James:** _Is it okay if I come over?_

 **Thomas:** _Sure let yourself in. You know I gave you a key for a reason_

That reason absolutely not being a pointed hint about Dolley having a key to James's apartment. Or so Thomas kept telling himself.

Thomas put the matter aside and went back to work with the rationale that it'd take time for James to make his way over there. Which was why he honest to God almost fell out of his swivel chair when, not a minute later, someone put a hand on his shoulder.

"Jesus Christ," Thomas said.

"Sorry, that wasn't...I didn't mean to startle you."

"Yes, well, you did," Thomas said, planting his feet on the floor. "What'd you do, fly here?"

"I was outside when I texted," James said. "Almost let myself in, but then I thought it'd be polite to give you some advance notice."

"Your notice wasn't nearly advance enough." He took a closer look at James. "You brought the chessboard?"

"I thought it'd be a welcome diversion." But now James was peering around the study. Which was how Thomas remembered that, although James had seen into it on the occasions Thomas pulled back the sliding screen by his bed, he'd never been in it. "I didn't know one person could own this much tracing paper."

"Wait until you see how many building code books I own," Thomas said, getting to his feet. "I'm telling you, my life's the height of glamour." He ran a hand through his hair. "How much of a mess am I right now?"

"You're wearing your glasses, so I'm biased."

"Maybe I should embrace being a mess," Thomas said. "I'll start meeting my clients in my pyjamas just to fuck with them."

"Yes, your silk robe and fluffy slippers will certainly show them," James said wryly. Then he put the chessboard on the desk so he could start kissing Thomas all over his face, which was par for the course when Thomas was bespectacled. James, for whatever reason, could never resist.

"Great, now they're all smudgy," Thomas said. He took his glasses off and started polishing them on the hem of James's shirt. James bore it in silence, since any smudging was his fault.

Something in his movements must've tipped James off — some hesitation, some stiffness.

"Please don't tell me you've been hunched over that desk for hours on end," James said.

"Fine, I won't tell you."

James sighed. "Thomas. Sit down."

Thomas did, though he raised an eyebrow. "So you have an issue with me hunching over my desk, but I'm meant to si— oh. That's what we're doing."

"That is in fact what we're doing," James said. His hands had found Thomas's shoulders, fingertips skimming the hollows there before he started to move his hands in a gentle kneading motion.

Thomas leaned back into the touch. "Didn't know you had formal massage training." It was like James knew exactly where to apply pressure, where to move his thumb in concentric circles to soothe out a knot of tension. 

"I picked up a few tricks," James said. "Someone I used to know worked himself non-stop."

"If that was meant to make me jealous, it's not working," Thomas said, as James tried to ease at the places where Thomas had tensed himself up to the point where he'd practically folded in on himself. There were many.

"You know you have nothing to be jealous of," James said. Now he was massaging Thomas's upper arms. "How does that feel?"

"For God's sake, don't stop," Thomas said, and James chuckled and kissed the side of his neck before continuing what he was doing, those hands of his working miracles as they moved along Thomas's arms and shoulders and then back again. 

It felt good. Not just in terms of pure physical sensation, although there was that, but the simple feeling of being cared for. He'd forgotten what it meant, having another person give so abundantly and freely and not knowing if what he could give in return was enough.

Eventually James stopped. "Better?"

"You have no idea," Thomas said. 

After a moment, James said, "I wanted to see if you were all right."

Thomas let out a quiet breath. "Come here." He wasn't about to continue this conversation while James was standing, and there wasn't anywhere to sit in Thomas's study besides the swivel chair. And so he pulled back the screen leading to his bedroom, and this time James accompanied him to his bed with no complaining whatsoever.

Opening up was one of those things that ran so contrary to the way Thomas had structured his existence as a human being that he was still surprised he didn't implode every time he did it. He'd never have admitted it, but part of the reason he'd been scared to get into a new relationship after Martha was because he knew they'd have to tackle that particular piece of emotional baggage eventually, and although he and James had been doing that in increments, Thomas still struggled with it.

When something just pissed him off, he could talk shit about everyone involved until the cows came home. But when it came down to something that cut deeper than that, formulating words around it didn't come so easily.

"It's gonna be strange as hell for a while without Patsy around," Thomas said. "I know, it's the twenty-first century and we've got all kinds of ways to keep in touch. But it's hard to think about, I guess. Before you know it, Maria's gonna go off to college too, and she'll get her own place, and both my kids will be living lives of their own. And then there'll be me. I'll be all that's left here."

He felt the truth of the words as he spoke them. Thomas would never have uttered the words _I'm afraid of being alone_ , but in the end that was what it came down to. He missed Patsy, of course he did, but more than that, having her leave scared him a little because it felt like the beginning of the end.

"What about me?" James said.

Thomas looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"I'm still here," James said. "And I don't plan on leaving you for the foreseeable future."

"You can't promise that," Thomas said.

"I know," James said.

They were silent for a while. James's hand was on his hip, a comforting weight.

Thomas said, "You really love me, huh."

"So it's had time to sink in," James said.

Thomas ignored that. "When I was thinking about all the things I'm gonna do when the girls are off making lives of their own, another person never factored in. I didn't make that sort of room in my future because I didn't think there'd be anyone else again." He looked at James. "You messed with a lot of my plans. For a start, I had to increase my list of 'people I give more than a cursory shit about' by one, and I haven't done that in _years_ —"

"I feel like that list wasn't all that long to begin with," James said.

"It wasn't. That's why this is a such big deal," Thomas said.

"Well," James said. "You might want to get used to the idea of booking two tickets to France instead of one."

"Oh my God. I'm really that fucking predictable."

"Or maybe I just know you that well."

"It's all right, darlin'," Thomas said. "We'll squeeze in some time to visit the _Muséum national d'Histoire naturelle_ so you can admire the plants."

"You say that like you wouldn't be right there admiring them with me," James said.

Okay, so James had a point.

It wasn't long before Thomas remembered that, although one of his kids had flown the nest, he still had legal responsibility for another small human being, and with that came some sort of obligation to keep her fed. Despite how readily Maria had shut herself up in her room, coaxing her out took no time at all. 

"It's a good thing you're here, Mr Madison," she said, seeming unsurprised by his presence. "Now Dad has someone who'll read the Constitution with him, or play chess, or whatever else you two think is fun." This said in a tone that very clearly said that anything they thought was fun would in fact be the opposite of fun.

Frankly, Thomas didn't know what was worse: the fact that she'd written them both off as boring old men, or that one of her guesses was correct. James's lips twitched, as if he was trying not to smile.

"Where'd you get that attitude, honey?" Thomas said.

"Now that Patsy's gone, someone has to do it," Maria said. "What's for dinner?"

"I was gonna ask you that," Thomas said. "How do you feel about pizza?"

Her eyes lit up. "Can we?"

"I don't see why not."

She beamed at him, then turned to James with utmost solemnity. "Don't order pizza with Dad. He likes anchovies."

"As it happens, I like anchovies too," James said.

Maria looked as if someone she trusted had turned around and betrayed her. Which, from a certain perspective, wasn't all that far from what'd happened. 

Once she recovered from this treachery and told Thomas what type of pizza she wanted, he got on the phone to place their order. Maria seemed ready to disappear back into her room, but before she could go, James forestalled her.

"How would you like to learn to play chess?" James said. "While we wait for our pizza."

"So I was right," she said. "That's what you do for fun."

"Unfortunately it is," James said. "But I promise it's interesting once you get into it. I thought you might like to learn."

"Well..."

"We can stop at any time," James said. "If you find yourself becoming as old and dull as we are."

She shrugged. "Sure, why not."

Thomas got off the phone. "And here I've been trying to get either of them to show interest for years," he said, to which James responded with a shoulder-pat that brimmed with false sympathy. Good to know Thomas wasn't the only asshole in this relationship.

A short time later, James had set up the chessboard on the coffee table in the living room — not the ideal location, but at least there'd be no need to dismantle it once the pizza came. Maria sat on the floor on the other side of the table.

"To start with, what do you know about chess?" James said.

"So this is a pawn. This is a bishop." Maria picked up a knight. "And this is a knight, but you should always call it a horsey because that annoys Dad and he starts looking like he's going to explode."

"Good to know," James said. "That's what we'll call it."

"James," Thomas said.

"I know all the rules and everything," Maria said. "Even the _en passant_ thingy and the stuff about promoting pawns. I just don't get the strategy stuff."

Seemed that was exactly the sort of foundation James liked to build on. As he taught Maria, explaining each move, Thomas could see how he'd ended up being a teacher.

The pizza arrived partway into their match. They'd only made a few actual moves; James got thorough as hell with his explanations. Thomas answered the door. When he got back, Maria looked dismayed and James looked apologetic, which Thomas took to mean that James had won.

"I got his queen, so I thought I was doing okay," Maria said, "and then in the next move..."

"That's his favourite trick," Thomas said. "You've gotta guard against that queen sacrifice, honey. Every time _I_ see a chance to take his queen, I have to stop myself and ask if it isn't a trap."

"Hopefully this served as a lesson," James said.

"A lesson not to trust you, Mr Madison," Maria said. 

"You can never learn that lesson too soon," Thomas said.

They put chess aside for the moment so they could eat pizza. Maria was polite enough not to make fun of James for categorically refusing to eat it with his hands and instead using a knife and fork to cut it up into bite-sized pieces before he ate it. Thomas wasn't.

"And I'm meant to be the fussy one here," Thomas said.

"Mock me all you want. I don't like it when the smell gets on my hands."

"That's why you wash your hands after eating as well as before, darlin'."

"It lingers," James said darkly.

"Why do you have to be so rude to Mr Madison, Dad?" Maria said.

"He brings it on himself. I mean, for God's sake, he has this little bottle of hand sanitiser he whips out at random times when we're in public," Thomas said. "As in, we'll be in the middle of a normal conversation, and suddenly he's disinfecting himself and he's offering it to me too."

It might've been more convincing if he managed to sound less completely endeared by that than he was.

Afterwards, Maria shyly asked James whether they could play again, since she swore she was getting the hang of it when they'd stopped. James obliged her. Thomas settled in by James's side to watch, eventually giving up on trying not to cuddle up to James and letting his head drop onto James's shoulder. This had the effect of making James lose his train of thought in the middle of explaining skewer attacks. He never had gotten the hang of being affectionate around other people.

This fazed Maria not at all.

"Dad's trying to distract you to give me a tactical advantage," she said. "Don't let him get to you, Mr Madison."

James relaxed against Thomas. Just a little.

Turned out Maria had a competitive streak. Thomas didn't see it often, but James had managed to awaken it, and so she keep on at it more and more stubbornly, each bit of headway only making her more determined. Thomas had gotten so caught up in observing that he lost track of time, and it was only when she started yawning that he thought to check the time. It was almost 9:30 PM.

"Maria," Thomas said, "bedtime."

She protested, but then James checkmated her in the same move and she had no excuses left. And so she said goodnight to them, and she was smiling when she went, so all in all Thomas counted that a success.

"Hey," Thomas said, turning to James. "Thanks for being around."

James's hand found his hair, carding through his curls. Thomas leaned into the touch.

"If it was me and Maria, it might've been a pretty bleak night," Thomas said. "Having you here makes it a little less lonely."

"That's the idea of our relationship," James said. "Do you want me to stay the night?"

"Tough question. Do _you_ want to stay?"

"If you want me to."

"If we go into that any deeper, we're gonna create a logical paradox," Thomas said. "Fine. You're staying." James's hand brushed against his cheek, near enough that Thomas could turn his head and land a gentle kiss on James's palm. Which he did. "We're making this work so far, aren't we?"

Another bit of uncertainty. Another piece of the kind of vulnerability he never would've counted on being able to show to anyone else again.

"I think we are," James said.

"Good, because I wasn't accepting any other answer." He cleared his throat. "Now we had that little marriage counselling moment, can we get back to chess?"

"You want to play chess?"

"That's what you brought it over for, isn't it? I'm thinking I could improve on my win-loss ratio here. See, you'll have gotten complacent because your last opponent was a twelve year old. Easy win for me."

"None of our wins against each other have ever been _easy_ , Thomas. We're too well-matched for that."

"Before you start turning chess into a metaphor for our relationship, I'm just gonna go set up." He untangled himself from James, not without some regret.

They ended up both sitting on the floor, the chessboard between them. And maybe it was because of the talk they'd had earlier in Thomas's room that James was more self-conscious in a way that seldom surfaced when they got into chess, but he kept glancing up at Thomas as they played. Which was how Thomas got found out.

"You're staring, Thomas," James said.

"I always do that when we play chess. You never noticed?"

"When I play chess, I'm usually thinking about chess. That might be why I win."

"Touché," Thomas said.

"You get a lot of other chances to stare at me."

"Yeah, but not like this," Thomas said. "You look so fucking good when you're playing chess and you get all intent and focused."

James chuckled, obviously taking it as a flippant remark. "Wait until you see me play Monopoly."

"I'm serious."

James aimed a sceptical look Thomas's way, but seemed to decide he had better things to do than argue the point.

Of course James won in the end. Thomas was usually good at letting himself not get carried away on this particular train of thought, but tonight he didn't make the effort.

"Were you really taken in by the queen sacrifice after you warned Maria to watch out for it?" James said.

"No shame in it. That queen sacrifice was beautiful." He'd never felt sore about losing to James in chess. If it was anyone else, he might've felt differently, but like James had said earlier, the two of them were well-matched enough. Thomas couldn't bring himself to begrudge how the number of wins between them was tipped the tiniest bit in James's favour. But more to the point... "Also, I'm gonna need you to kiss me right about now."

He set his spectacles aside and shifted over to James's side of the board, and James leaned in quite readily as Thomas did. Still, James clearly didn't expect what he got next, which was Thomas pulling him into a kiss with the sort of fervour that might've been anticipated after a long session of smouldering glances and teasing touches instead of after a game of chess. James made a soft sound of surprise against Thomas's lips, then another lower noise before he pulled Thomas closer with a hand in his hair. Somehow they ended up overbalancing so that James was all but on the floor completely, and Thomas had no problem helping that along, getting on top of him more fully.

When they pulled apart, James looked up at him. "You were serious."

"Only reason I didn't knock the board over to get to you is because I bought the damn thing. I remember how much it cost."

There was amusement playing at the corners of James's mouth. "All I'm getting from this is that we should play strip chess someday."

"God, yes."

"Promise not to lose on purpose?"

"Who do you think I _am_ , James? I have some goddamn _pride_ —" Anything else he might've wanted to say was lost when James pulled him back into another kiss.

Thomas didn't think he'd ever get over this sensation of wanting, and of being wanted in return with as great a fervour. Every other partner he'd had since Martha had been meaningless physicality, a shallow attraction; but now there was James, and this all-consuming thing between them, and it was almost too much to deal with. They were kissing frantically, and Thomas felt electrified, and part of him knew it wasn't a great idea to do this out here, that they should really be in the bedroom with the way things were going, but it was hard to care with James's mouth under his, James's hands all over him.

"If Maria comes out—" James began, but Thomas shushed him.

"You ever meet that kid? I swear she hibernates." He became distracted by how his hands were finding superfluous fabric when they should've been finding bare skin. "Why do you even wear shirts? So fucking unnecessary."

"Social norms say— _God,_ Thomas."

While Thomas was busy trying to pull off James's shirt, James apparently decided it would be a great idea to do the same to Thomas. To nobody's surprise, it ended in a tangled mess, James apologetic as he tried to free Thomas from where he'd somehow gotten trapped with his own shirt caught over his head, and it was— it shouldn't have been hot at all, and it wasn't, but then James started laughing and Thomas couldn't help laughing too, and it just felt _right_ , and he didn't know when that'd happened.

"Great idea," Thomas said once they were no longer so constrained by unneeded articles of clothing. "You're a real genius of our time. I swear, sometimes it's like you forget how to move logically once you get turned on. Nothing like that happens to me."

"Your filters disappear instead," James said. "When you get turned on, sometimes you start sounding like a parody of yourself."

"I'm eminently quotable when I'm aroused, James."

"You once told me to be careful when taking your pants off because they cost more than what I make in a year."

Thomas winced. "My God, did I really? Please tell me I followed that up with something about teachers' unions and raising wages."

Judging by the way James looked up at him, he'd done no such thing. 

"That was hyperbole, just so's you know," Thomas said. "Pretty sure I don't own any pants that expensive. Also, I really don't know why I'm talking about this when I have you half-naked under me."

"I wonder that too."

Thomas couldn't stop the smile that spread on his face when their eyes met, and James smiled back.

"I love you," Thomas said, "so fucking much." Punctuating the end of each half of that with a kiss, then letting his lips wander along the line of James's jaw, his neck. Liking the way James's breathing grew just a little ragged. So obviously he couldn't stop there.

"Thomas," James said. "We're not going to fuck on your living room floor." It was more a question than a statement. Or at least that was how Thomas chose to interpret it.

"We're absolutely going to fuck on my living room floor."

"Newton, Bacon, and Locke are watching us."

Thomas spared a moment to be impressed that James could even remember their names at this point. "Good. They're gonna be so jealous."

Logically speaking, Thomas knew they shouldn't be doing that on the living room floor. And he'd make them move to the bedroom before the pants came off, really. Just not right now.

At that moment, the question of whether or not they were in fact going to fuck on Thomas's living room floor became unnecessary — the mood was interrupted by the sound of Beyoncé's "Run the World (Girls)" playing at an indecent volume from somewhere in the vicinity of Thomas's pants.

Thomas had had reason to see James's _are you kidding me_ face before, but _are you fucking kidding me_ , its more seldom-seen relative, was now out in full force.

"Phone," Thomas said. "That's Patsy calling." 

The moment this sank in — after her vow that she'd ignore them for the first week of college while she got settled in — he couldn't get to his phone fast enough.

"What's wrong, Patsy?"

"What? Nothing's wrong, Dad." She sounded peeved about him assuming something was wrong. No immediate distress, so Thomas assumed he could relax for the moment.

"I assumed, since you were vowing to ignore us..." He mouthed _hands off my ass_ at James, who complied with some dismay. Thomas propped himself up on his elbows next to James.

"No, I just," Patsy said in barely more than a mumble. "It's weird not to hear you every day."

"You know you can call whenever you want, honey," Thomas said. Although it would've been inconvenient if she'd waited a few more minutes. Not that he wouldn't still have managed to get to the phone regardless, but it wouldn't have been a fun time for anyone.

"I forgot you might get worried," Patsy said. 

"It's fine, honey. Might be good to text ahead next time, though. Unless you want me to panic. Which might sound fun in theory, but it's a lot less fun in practice."

"I know, Dad. I've seen you panicking."

Now that Thomas wasn't so distracted, he noticed it was more than a little cold on the floor. It took a moment to locate his shirt, and it might've taken longer to get it back on again if not for how James sat up along with him and started assisting him, making less of a mess of putting the thing on than he had while trying to take it off. Which left Thomas free to talk on the phone.

"So what's up?" Thomas said. "What'd I miss?" Once clothed again, he settled back down by James's side.

As it turned out, she was more than happy to unload on him. Although Thomas knew he'd get more and more censored accounts the longer time went on, for now he listened. She was happy so far. He didn't have to ruin anyone's reputation or career or life yet.

"I'm sorry, I'm talking too much," Patsy said. "Everything's okay with you?"

"Everything's fine, Pats." _I've only had one migraine since you left, and it went away quick._ He wasn't sure she'd see the humour in that.

"And Maria? Maria's okay?"

"Yes, honey, she's okay. Bit of wounded pride, maybe. James was teaching her how to play chess a while ago."

"Oh," Patsy said. Then, in a rush: "I mean, I'm not homesick or anything. Just checking because I know everything goes to hell when I'm not around."

"Flames everywhere," Thomas agreed. "It's strange not having you around, kid."

" _Dad_ ," she said. "I'll see y'all again in no time at all, so you don't have to make it such a big deal." She sounded more like she was trying to reassure herself than him.

"If I end up needing to have words with any professors—"

" _No_ ," Patsy said.

That got a quiet laugh from James, and Thomas brushed a hand against his cheek in place of being able to do anything else to express his sudden resurgence of fondness.

"Maybe I shouldn't fight with them," Thomas said. "James might get jealous."

That got a laugh out of her. "Say hi to Mr Madison from me when you see him. And, um, I've gotta go. I mean, I wasn't calling to make it a big thing or anything, I — you know." She was quiet for a few seconds. "Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight, honey. I love you."

"I love you too," she said in a rush, then hung up not a second later. Probably didn't want to stick around and sound all emotional.

Thomas made a face. "Teenagers." He set his phone aside and buried his face in the crook of James's neck because he could.

"What happened?" James said.

"Talking about how she's totally not homesick yet and is calling just because. She says hi, by the way."

"I'm glad she's doing all right," James said. "Dare I ask about the ringtone?"

"Eh?" Thomas had gotten so used to it that it took a moment to realise what James was talking about. "She changed it a few years ago, probably trying to make some kinda point. It stuck."

"And here I was thinking you assigned a Beyoncé song to everyone in your life."

"No, but now I'm gonna have to consider doing that when I'm bored enough," Thomas said. He nuzzled James's neck from where he was, and James let out a little breath that sounded happy enough. "So that interruption killed the mood a little."

"You mean it brought us to our senses," James said. "I'm a little amazed I considered having sex with you with those portraits in my line of sight."

"That's how you know it's real, darlin'. When even Locke's penetrating gaze can't deter you."

"Newton worried me more, personally," James said. His hand was on Thomas's back, tracing lazy circles. The sort of absent-minded touch he lapsed into sometimes. Like he forgot he was even touching Thomas, just knew that he didn't want to not be. "Maybe it's a sign we should go to bed."

"I'm not objecting to that as long as we can pick up where we left off," Thomas said. He sat up. "And speaking of the portraits — I'm thinking of revising my trinity of the three greatest men who've ever lived." He paired this with a flirtatious grin down at James.

If he'd hoped to fluster James with that, he would've been disappointed. James said, "As long as you don't put a painting of me in your living room. That's a line I'm not comfortable crossing."

Thomas just shook his head. There was no complimenting some people.

* * *

Even when it didn't involve sneaking up on Thomas in his study, James was very good at sneaking up on people. Or at least that was the only reasonable conclusion Thomas could draw at this point. Sure, he'd expected he'd see James coming by more often. After all, that was the whole point of giving him a key. But he hadn't anticipated how fully the change would happen.

It wasn't like the early days, where James made an implicit promise to spend all his time with Thomas by coming over. They'd slipped into a lazy routine, an imitation of cohabitation. It no longer surprised Thomas to come down from his study and find James sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee, using his laptop or grading quizzes, even if James hadn't been there earlier in the day; nor did it surprise him on these occasions when, after pulling a late night, he came to his bed and found that James had already dozed off in it without him. 

If Maria noticed how much time James spent over, she didn't mention it. Nor did she seem to mind, but that was to be expected; some days Thomas had a hard time remembering that she'd ever been shy around James because she'd taken to him so completely. On a few weekends Thomas even caught the two of them — the two people who'd have their pictures in a visual thesaurus as antonyms for the phrase "morning person" — having actual civil conversations at breakfast. A goddamn miracle.

James's job was where things got interesting. For a while, they'd managed to avoid having anything made of the fact that James taught at the same school Maria was attending. It wasn't like Patsy, where she'd been in his class. Thomas hadn't felt any pressure to keep hiding it now that there was nothing that could be said about it. (Not that they'd done a great job of hiding it even while James was Patsy's teacher, with the sheer amount of times they showed up in public together.) At any rate, it would've been unnecessary to hide anything, since James left earlier than Thomas dropped Maria off and he came back later. There'd been no overlap between the two.

At least not until one day where Thomas had ended up having to give James a lift home because it would've been too difficult to do otherwise. There were people around, and Thomas spent a while wondering whether anything would be made of it.

He got an update the next day while James was helping him with dinner: someone had indeed made something of it.

"The word's spread," James said. "They think it's a new development. I didn't do much to disabuse them of that notion. They must be making bets about how long until you kick me to the curb."

"You think we should tell them we've been together since January?"

"They wouldn't be able to handle the shock," James said. "As it is, they told me to make sure I never made an enemy of you because you'd kick up a fuss and do everything in your power to get me fired."

"I'd never do that."

James suddenly seemed very focused on opening the fridge's crisper drawer instead of addressing that.

"To you," Thomas amended, and from the way James touched him on the shoulder as he went back to what he was doing, Thomas knew he was believed on that point at least.

* * *

And sometimes James disappeared when Thomas needed him. At which point the only recourse was grumpy text messages. James's replies did nothing to make the abandonment better.

 **James:** _Dolley needed an emergency babysitter. I'll come over again tonight. : )_

 **Thomas:** _The question is will I let you back in my house after you left me without even saying goodbye_

 **James:** _Do you want me to pick up dinner on my way back?_

 **Thomas:** _In my hour of need you forsook me  
And yes_

He camped out on the couch shortly before James's anticipated return, flicking through news channels as he waited. When James let himself in, he looked unsurprised to see Thomas frowning at him from the couch. 

Thomas raised the remote and switched the TV off without looking at it. "James. Answer this for me. True or false."

James looked at him warily, then set the cartons of take-out on the coffee table and came to sit next to him. "What is it?"

"True or false: it's common sense to know it fucking costs extra to start moving things around after I've started the fucking construction drawings. And to not _give me shit about wanting to be paid for that._ "

James wrapped his arms around Thomas. "Difficult clients?"

"Ugh." Thomas cuddled closer, determined to stay annoyed. Which was admittedly hard to do with James's (still unfairly amazing) arms around him.

"It's a good thing we've yet to have a tough day at work at the same time," James said.

"Really? I'd almost prefer us being mad at the same time. At least then we wouldn't be ruining it for the one who's not pissed off."

"I can be pissed off if you want," James said. "Let me think about that parent from yesterday for a little while."

"Don't start. Now I'm even more pissed off. _I'm_ the only parent who's allowed to be an asshole to you. I thought everyone knew that."

"You don't understand, Thomas," James said, his tone tinged with irony. "This parent gives more money to the school than you do. That entitles him to be more of an asshole."

"I'm getting you mad about it all over again, aren't I."

"That wasn't your goal?"

"I changed my mind. You're not allowed to be mad when I'm mad. It stops me from wallowing." Thomas drew his hand along James's broad chest. "Want me to ruin his life? 'Cause I can manage that somehow."

"No thanks," James said. "I can handle this. I'm used to dealing with parents who try to cheat the system." Grim satisfaction coloured this tone.

Thomas could've pointed out the irony here, but really, he liked the way James dealt with him. As long as he wasn't that other guy, it was all good. "Darlin', I have to say...your vengeful streak? Kind of turns me on."

James chuckled and held Thomas just a bit tighter. It was a little unbelievable to Thomas that he had this again. Someone who'd hold him at the end of a long day and listen to his grumbling. Someone who'd be _there_.

He heard footsteps, which was how he knew Maria had found them. In the next moment, she came over and sat on his other side.

"Clients?" she said.

"I'm victimised by the lack of respect for my profession," Thomas said.

A quiet snort of derision escaped James, and Thomas turned his head enough to glare.

"Point taken, Mr High School Teacher," Thomas said. "But this whole architect thing isn't all it's cracked up to be either. Like when I went for Career Day at Maria's school. You'd think they'd be interested, but no, those kids started cackling like a bunch of hyenas."

"Maybe if you called it _tracing paper_ like a normal person, you wouldn't have had that problem," Maria said. "What did you think would happen if you said 'bumwad' in front of a bunch of fourth graders?"

"I think you'll find that most architects..." Thomas could feel James trying not to laugh, which warranted another glare.

"I'm hungry," Maria said. "Can we eat now?"

"I don't know. Can we?" James said.

"You can sleep on the couch," Thomas informed him. "You're not an English teacher. You don't get to make that joke."

"Grammar is a universal concern, Thomas."

"If you two start arguing about the Oxford comma again, I'm leaving," Maria said.

As they made their way over to the kitchen, Thomas took a moment to reflect on the unavoidable strangeness of what his life now was. One year ago, he would've laughed at the thought of any of this even happening, let alone becoming his day-to-day reality. And yet this happened; happened so completely he'd barely realised until he was in the middle of it.

He didn't remark on it, just as he'd been not remarking on any of this, but at the end of dinner, Maria said, "Mr Madison, I have a question."

"Yes, Maria?"

"Is it okay if I call you by your first name? Calling you Mr Madison sounds like you're my teacher, or one of the neighbours or something, instead of..."

"Instead of your dad's partner?" James said. "I see where you're coming from. Mr Madison does sound a little impersonal."

"And I thought maybe you're tired of hearing it," Maria said. "Because everyone calls you Mr Madison all the time at school."

"As it happens, it's a bit tiring. I wouldn't mind if you'd rather call me James."

"Okay," Maria said, and off she went.

James turned to Thomas with polite bemusement. "Was that a big deal?"

"No clue. My 'dating with kids' handbook didn't have a chapter on that," Thomas said. "Personally I think it'd be a bigger deal if we get Patsy to stop calling you Mr Madison."

"I'm having a hard time seeing that."

"You can breathe easy on one count," Thomas said. "Neither of them are ever gonna ask if they can call you 'Dad'."

Judging by the relief that spread across James's face, he did in fact find that to be some reassurance. Thomas couldn't blame him. If it was him, he would've found it unsettling to have someone else's kids view him as a father figure. Being "Dad's boyfriend" was one thing, and that was another.

"The prospect of thinking of myself as a stepfather is a bit strange," James admitted.

"The possibility never crossed your mind?"

"I wasn't in the habit of seeking out single fathers."

"Joke's on you, Jemmy," Thomas said. "You overlooked how excellent we single fathers are as dating material, so you get to spend the rest of eternity with me. That's gotta be some sort of ironic retribution."

"As ironic as you dating a teacher?"

Well. No way could Thomas top that.

* * *

James hadn't been around all that much in the last few days. That might've been because there were only a few days to go until October 30, which Thomas had happened to mention was Martha's birthday. Not that Martha's birthday was a particularly earth-shattering occasion — Thomas had moved past that years ago. Now it was just a day for remembering her with his daughters and visiting her grave if the girls were up to it. Still, James seemed to be trying in his own way to give them space as a family, and Thomas could appreciate that.

It'd be different, having just Maria around. She'd only been a baby when Martha died, so she and Patsy had very different relationships with Martha's memory. A lot of things were different without Patsy around — but at the same time, the fact that it was just him and Maria made it easier for Thomas to bring up what he did. 

They'd finished having a Skype call with Patsy, and Thomas turned to Maria and said, "Still feels weird, doesn't it? Having it just be the two of us."

Maria raised an eyebrow. "Unless you've been living in a totally different place than I have, it hasn't _felt_ like it was just the two of us."

"Okay, you're quick," Thomas said. "Should've known. You're my kid, after all." He cleared his throat. "How would you feel if James was around on a more permanent basis?"

There were better ways he could've explained that, but Maria sat up straighter. "You asked him to move in?"

"Of course not. I have to be sure you're okay with it first, don't I?"

"Right." Maria rolled her eyes. "Because I'm gonna say no and leave you to be miserable until I go off to college."

"Every time I try being considerate for once..."

She sighed. "Dad, you know I want you to be happy. And I like James, so why would I say no?"

"It'd be different having him live here all the time," Thomas said. "Having this be as much his home as ours. Anyway, this is all hypothetical. It's too early to consider it. I just wanted to clear it with you in case something happens."

"Are you kidding? I'd get to eat his baking even more if he lived here."

Thomas reached out to ruffle her hair, and as always she failed to duck out of the way in time. "I figured that might be where your priorities were," he said.

"I don't get how you think this is a surprise, Dad," Maria said. "I mean, he's practically moved in anyway."

"Just because he comes by to hang out for extended periods of time—"

"You've started leaving notes for each other on the fridge."

Thomas opened his mouth to protest, to tell her that didn't signify in the least, but then he remembered that one of said notes on the fridge was a combined shopping list they'd made for the sake of convenience, complete with James's increasingly passive-aggressive annotations next to the bullet point for Kraft macaroni.

So maybe James had moved in. Just a little.

* * *

November rolled in, and Maria settled upon a fun, seasonally-appropriate way of giving her father grief: pestering him to take her to an ice-skating rink.

He'd taken the girls a couple of times before at their insistence, trying it out himself _once_ and only once before deciding not to repeat the experience. Patsy seemed to like it okay. Maria, on the other hand, had liked it way more than Thomas was willing to accommodate. She'd managed to make him promise he'd take her at least once each winter — because that seemed to be when she got into the mood, with the insistence, when he pointed out that the rinks were open year-round, that _it's weird to do it in the summer, Dad, it's not Christmas-y_. Thomas didn't dare mention that it was still November.

At least this time he wouldn't have to suffer alone. He'd offhandedly mentioned the pestering to James, and as it turned out, Dolley liked ice-skating and often took that kid of hers along. All of which added up to: Thomas was absolutely going to pawn his kid off on Dolley Payne so he could get some alone time with James instead of getting roped into waiting as Maria ice-skated for an hour and a half.

When he arrived at the ice-skating rink with James and Maria in tow, Dolley was already there. She had a little boy with her — he'd been made from a similar mould as her, bright-eyed and dark-haired. The resemblance was only exacerbated when he ran over to James, a bright smile on his face that probably could've charmed anyone used to thinking of random children as cute. (As opposed to Thomas, who'd only ever acknowledged the cuteness of his own kids and sort of blurred every other kid in the world into one amorphous blob in his mind.)

Dolley acknowledged Thomas and Maria, then turned to the boy. "Payne, this is Mr Jefferson."

"Oh," Payne said. "One of Uncle Jemmy's boyfriends." He didn't sound particularly interested.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "'One of'?"

" _Payne,_ " Dolley said.

Quick as lightning, Payne plastered that cutesy smile on his face again. "I mean, it's very nice to meet you, Mr Jefferson."

Thomas was mildly unsettled, but he didn't have time to be any more than that because Dolley clapped her hands together. "We should get going now. You sure you wouldn't like to try ice skating, Thomas?"

"Thanks, but I do all my prancing on surfaces where I'm less likely to fall on my butt."

"Thomas is a wise man," James said, not mentioning that he had a vested interest in the continued well-being of Thomas's butt.

"At least you two have each other." Dolley sighed in a way that suggested they were the dullest people in the world.

Maria must've picked up on that subtext, considering she spent most of her time implying the same thing. She giggled, and when she went over to Dolley's side she did it less shyly than Thomas might've expected.

"I want her back exactly the way I left her," Thomas called after Dolley, and Dolley gave him an airy wave that inspired no confidence.

"So," Thomas said once the other three were out of earshot. "What's with the kid? I'm stuck on how I'm _one of_ your boyfriends."

"He's heard of a couple of them," James said. "They were never around for very long, so he might have the wrong idea about you."

"Ah. So I'm one of Uncle Jemmy's boyfriends who'll probably be gone within the week because they don't tend to stick around."

"That's about it."

"I thought in relationships like ours, _you're_ the one who's meant to be encountering resistance from kids regarding our relationship, since I'm the one who has kids here. But no, my kids get along with you fine, and instead I get to deal with your high school girlfriend's son making faces at me."

"When you put it like that, it sounds like a bad movie."

"Darlin', the whole thing with you and Dolley has always sounded like a bad movie. Except, if this was Hollywood, Payne would be your actual son for maximum drama."

"Well," James said, "I'd just like to mention that he's not my son."

"Yeah, I figured that was genetically improbable at first glance," Thomas said. "That, or those are some damn strong Asian genes Dolley's got."

James put a hand on his arm. "He'll get used to you," he said.

"And I'll get used to him," Thomas said. Not like he had a choice.

They started walking. After all the time that'd passed, the way James took his hand was now comfortable, natural. At least in this one thing, none of James's hangups about public affection remained.

"Been a while since we've gone out together," Thomas said. "Grocery shopping doesn't count."

"We're busy men."

Thomas huffed, his breath feathering out as a cloud of steam in the winter air. "That's no excuse, _mon amour_. We haven't even been together one year and you're already acting like the spark's gone."

He wasn't being serious, and they both knew it. But he kept on at the topic, seeing how far he could push the subject, until — to his surprise, it had to be said — James kissed him to shut him up, even though they were in public and there were people around them. Apparently, Thomas needed to act like romance was dead more often.

Now that they'd gotten this time to themselves, it was like something had been renewed. For a bit, Thomas allowed himself to indulge in feeling like a giddy teenager on a date as he and James strolled hand-in-hand, until they decided to step inside a diner to warm up and wait for Dolley and the kids.

They sat side-by-side instead of across from each other. James texted Dolley to let her know where they were, and Thomas ordered hot chocolate for both of them. When it came, James sighed upon seeing the excess of whipped cream that accompanied it. Thomas derived too much amusement from how James resignedly used a spoon to scrape as much as he could off the top and deposit it on Thomas's own mug.

"So now you've got some kind of vendetta against whipped cream?" Thomas said. 

"I just don't see why it has to be in half the places it insists on being," James said. "There's no need to introduce it to perfectly good pumpkin pie. Or pancakes. It contributes nothing to the flavour, and nutritionally speaking..."

"Sometimes you act like an older man than I am."

"The amount of time you spend complaining about your joints in the morning would seem to say otherwise."

"Are you calling me _old?_ " Thomas said.

James, even after a few pointed nudges of Thomas's foot, did not refute that. Nor did he repent.

"Appalling." Thomas crossed his arms. "I want a divorce."

"That generally requires marriage in the first place."

"True. We're kind of lacking in that area."

James made a thoughtful sound but didn't elaborate further, which made Thomas realise there was something going on here.

He put his spoon down from where he'd been in the middle of getting the whipped cream from his hot chocolate. "Are we having this conversation now?"

"Why not? We've been together for a while."

"My, I didn't think you'd be so eager to put a ring on it."

From the way James ducked his gaze for the briefest of moments, Thomas inferred that James was blushing, which was interesting. And here he thought he'd all but lost the ability to make James do that.

"It never felt like a real possibility in any of my past relationships," James said. Each word measured out carefully. 

It hit Thomas hard how goddamn young James was. Never married, never widowed. Sometimes the gap in life experience was too prominent to ignore. And the thing was, Thomas knew exactly where James was coming from with this. God knew he felt it too, but...

"Too soon, darlin'," Thomas said.

"I know it's too soon," James said. "But I was wondering what plans you have in that area. So I can set my expectations."

Oh, Thomas knew this move: James talking around something with caution, with rationality, in words built on a foundation of practicality that betrayed no emotion. At least that was how James meant them to be perceived, but in reality there was no bigger tell that there was something huge going on below the surface.

"Bring the subject up in one year's time and I might have something to say about it," Thomas said.

By the way James's eyes widened, he hadn't been expecting that. "You're open to it."

"'Course I am," Thomas said. "But I'd like to take my time with it." After how much urgency had been involved with tying the knot the first time around...and, oh, he knew he'd told himself he wasn't going to make the mistake of acting like they had all the time in the world, but he also wasn't going to rush into something this big. Not before he felt confident he could do it justice the way it deserved.

"I understand," James said. He slid an arm around Thomas, and Thomas leaned into the touch easily.

"We're not hyphenating," Thomas said. "Just so we're clear. It sounds awful with our surnames."

"Okay."

"And what's with that thing where all men's formalwear is in the most boring colours possible?"

"You're going to show up to our wedding in a magenta tux, aren't you."

Thomas suppressed the feeling that went through him at the words _our wedding_. "Count on it."

"I'll stick with plain black, if that's all right."

"Of course I'd never stop you doing your thing," Thomas said.

Dear God. They'd agreed to postpone talks for one year, but they were already discussing it like it was an inevitability. It was overwhelming. After Martha, he'd never thought he might remarry. Not when he'd been too busy thinking about raising the kids, and even dating by itself obviously hadn't been on the table. For the first time, the idea seemed like something tangible. 

He thought about it seriously — waking up next to James for as long as they both lived, introducing him to people as _This is James, my husband_. That lasted all of a second before he pushed the idea away. Too much. Not right now.

A thought struck Thomas. "James, you don't want kids, do you?"

"I don't think I'm really the fatherly type."

"Bullshit. You'd be a great dad."

James inclined his head, a little doubtful. "Do _you_ want kids? More than you already have?"

"God, no. I did my time."

James let out a soft, surprised chuckle at the vehemence in his tone.

"I love my kids," Thomas said. "You know that. Just — not again."

"Then we should be fine," James said. "I don't mind being an uncle, but I'd rather not have my own."

"Good. Here I was thinking you'd want to adopt ten."

"Having eight younger siblings is a very good deterrent to that sort of thing," James said. "Or to the idea of having children at all."

Meanwhile Thomas came from a family of too many goddamn sisters and had ended up with two daughters anyway. Some people learned from the past. Others didn't.

They spent a while there before Dolley entered, spotted them, and made her way over to them. She'd clearly worked her magic on Maria, who chatted away to her like they'd known each other forever. For a moment, Thomas wondered what'd happen if Dolley met Patsy. The prospect of both of them in the same place was too terrifying to think about.

"Had fun?" Thomas asked Maria as she came to sit next to him him, Payne and Dolley opposite them.

"It was great," Maria said, "since Dolley actually knows how to ice-skate, unlike you."

So they'd jumped straight to first-name terms. Not surprising. Dolley had that effect on people.

"I made a valiant effort for you that one time," Thomas said. "Clearly it went unappreciated."

"We had a fantastic time," Dolley said. "I wouldn't mind taking Maria ice-skating again sometime. If you're all right with it, Thomas."

"Since I don't seem to suffice in that regard, I guess you'll have to do it."

Once the kids had gotten some hot chocolate of their own, Maria said, "Dad, I think I want to be a wedding planner when I grow up."

"Ma'am," Thomas said to Dolley, "what kind of propaganda have you been filling my daughter's head with?"

"Maria asked me where I work and I told her," Dolley said. "She seemed interested."

"Wedding planning sounds fun," Maria said. "I mean, I don't want to get married ever, and Dolley said it's not as glamorous as it sounds and you have all these details to sort out, but you get to plan a massive party for someone else and you get paid for it, so it can't be that bad."

"They don't all need to be that massive," James said. "Personally, I don't think it's as nearly as big a deal as most of the wedding industry makes it out to be."

"We know." Dolley's voice said she'd heard this a thousand times before.

But Thomas couldn't resist poking at that topic. "What'd you prefer instead, James? A good old courthouse wedding?"

"Of course not," James said. "You'd never stand for it."

"You got that right."

Maria squinted at them.

"Is there something you two need to tell us?" Dolley said.

James took his sweet time composing a reply. He folded his hands in front of him almost primly. "The subject was discussed before you got here."

"At considerable length," Thomas added.

"We reached a consensus."

"That consensus being: not yet."

"That was enlightening," Dolley said after a moment. Her tone was far too knowing, so Thomas decided it was high time he changed the subject.

"So, Payne," Thomas said. If he had to make nice with the kid, he might as well start now. "What about you? What do you wanna be when you grow up?"

The boy seemed baffled by the question. "Do I have to be something?"

"Yes, you do," Dolley said, sounding like she'd also had this conversation a hundred times before. "Spending all Mommy's money is not a life path."

"Oh," Payne said. "Well...what sort of jobs do people have where you don't have to do anything?"

"Architects," James said at the exact moment Thomas said, "High school teachers."

Payne scrunched up his face in confusion. "But you have to do stuff for that."

"They know that," Maria said. "They just like being mean to each other because they think they're a lot funnier than they are."

"It's true," James said. "We're a lot less amusing than we think."

"Speak for yourself, I'm hilarious," Thomas said.

Payne seemed to have given up on trying to make sense of any of it. "Adults are weird."

"Trust me, you haven't seen anything yet," Maria said, with all the wisdom of a child who'd had to put up with way too much of Thomas and James's shit over the last few months.

* * *

With the holiday season growing a lot nearer, Thomas was once left again in the position of having to pick out Christmas gifts. Shopping for the girls was easy because they did their best to be unsubtle. Between Patsy emailing him links to online wishlists in the days leading up to the holiday season and Maria's handwritten lists slipped under his door, he had plenty of ideas to choose from.

And then there was James.

"So, James," Thomas said to him as they made their way through a department store, picking up stuff to send their respective siblings. "What do you want for Christmas? Besides me naked on a bed, that is."

James did his reflexive scan to see if anyone was in earshot. "I can't seem to remember asking for that."

Thomas sidled closer. "Why wouldn't you want that? Best part is you wouldn't even have to do any unwrapping."

James wasn't even looking at him now. "May I just have the bed? I wouldn't mind a new one."

"Wow. Rude." Not that James's reaction was any surprise after the few notable occasions where Thomas had tried to present him with that very thing and been wearily told to _put your pants back on, Thomas._ Nobody else would've dared respond to the situation like that.

"I'd say you don't have to get me anything," James said at last. "Then you'd start complaining that since I'm getting you a present, you'd feel like an asshole if you ended up getting me nothing."

"May we not do that thing where we skip entire conversations because we already know what we're gonna say?"

"But that's one of the things I like about us."

To be fair, Thomas didn't mind it overmuch either.

"So after I wear you down sufficiently," Thomas said, "what do you say you want then? And I swear, if you give me that goddamn serious face and say, 'All I want for Christmas is you', like a Mariah Carey song is any kind of answer—"

"We both need to become less predictable," James conceded.

"And you still need to answer my question," Thomas said. "C'mon. Anything you want."

"I'm used to people giving me books."

"Books." Thomas exhaled. "Know why? Because people don't see how many goddamn books you already keep around the place. Christ. That actually makes my job harder. I'm trying to think of books you _don't_ own that I think you'd like, and I've gotta tell you, I thought I was well-read but I'm coming up blank."

James chuckled at his obvious consternation. "There are a few titles I've been meaning to get my hands on. I'll get you a list if it makes you happy."

"Yeah, that'd be great," Thomas said. "But you should know, I already picked out a present for you."

"What was all that about, then?"

"I needed to get you something you can open in front of the kids."

It only took James a second to process this. "Thomas, please tell me you didn't."

"Of course I'm not giving any _details_ ," Thomas said. "I need to preserve the surprise. But don't worry, it's not some sort of specially-reinforced sex swivel chair. I know you've been worrying about that."

"Good," James said, "because as I've told you before, there's no way to have sex in a swivel chair."

"That's quitter talk, darlin'."

James seemed to decide it wasn't worth it to have this argument again, least of all in a department store. He busied himself with perusing the kitchen appliances instead.

"I'm thinking of getting Dolley something," Thomas said. "What'd you get her?"

"An ice-cream maker. I thought it'd be a welcome addition to her parties."

"Right. An ice-cream maker. How the hell am I meant to top that?"

James patted him on the arm. "No one expects you to."

"You don't understand. She's your friend, ergo I have to play my cards right. This isn't a simple exchange of presents, James. This is diplomacy."

"Any exchange of presents is diplomacy."

"Some exchanges have higher stakes than others."

James acknowledged this with a nod. "You'll figure something out. At least you won't make a blunder like I did when I first gave you a Christmas present."

"I keep telling you, it wasn't such a blunder," Thomas sighed, taking James's arm as they continued through the store. 

Once they'd finished up and were back at the car, Thomas said, "You're real close to your family and everything." He dumped his shopping into the car's backseat. "They're not too mad you're abandoning them to join us for Christmas?"

"If I was there, they'd expect you to be as well. They can't wait to inspect you."

Thomas forced himself not to shudder at the mental image. "All in good time."

"Meeting Dolley was enough for one year," James said wryly.

"Too true," Thomas said. But he sneaked a glance at James. "I'm not opposed to going down there for a visit next year. If it'll mean something to you."

"It warms my soul when you make these concessions, Thomas," James said. "Even when your face says you'd rather not."

"The art of the compromise," Thomas muttered. Maybe those were their respective ways of showing love: James with his constant, steady presence, and Thomas with his efforts to play nice even when it ran counter to what he'd have preferred to do. "Nah, your family's fine. It's mine you've gotta worry about. They'll need another year to wrap their heads around this."

"So I'm not meeting the Jeffersons any time soon?"

"You've met the three most important ones. That's more than good enough."

"It is." James smiled at him. "I'm looking forward to spending Christmas with y'all."

Thomas had to kiss him for that. James did his best to make sure they didn't get too carried away, but the car windows ended up fogging up anyway. 

"You're getting better about this whole PDA thing," Thomas noted.

"You mean I'm getting worse."

"Oh, of course. I forgot you think only assholes flaunt their relationships in public," Thomas said. "I've got some news for you, love. We're both kind of assholes."

James didn't even bothering arguing with that. "We are."

* * *

Irrational as it was, Thomas had harboured some fear that the Patsy who returned from college for Christmas break wouldn't be the same Patsy he'd sent off there in the first place. To an extent it was true — he couldn't help but notice she seemed more independent in some respects now, and that made him feel a slight pang knowing it was one more sign that, someday, she'd leave for good instead of being stuck as she was now in this limbo where he kept her room the way it was when she'd left.

But he needn't have worried all that much. In every other way, Patsy seemed much as he'd left her. Maybe that was only because she'd returned home and lapsed into old habits, maybe she was a totally different person at college anyway, but for now everything felt like it was falling back into place. One other change: she'd gotten a lot more huggy, and though Thomas didn't mind her deciding she was no longer embarrassed to show her dad some affection, Maria seemed nothing short of perplexed by it.

James, in true James fashion, excused himself for the first couple of days of Patsy's visit to give them time as a family. He started spending more time over at their place in the days leading up to Christmas, and although Patsy initially expressed the weirdness of how Maria now called him "James" while Patsy was stuck thinking of him as "Mr Madison", she didn't seem to take too long to get used to seeing him on a far more frequent basis than had ever been the case while she was living at home. 

Even though Christmas Eve got off to an unfortunate start with James's absence in the morning, him not having returned from spending the day before Christmas Eve with Dolley and her son (which Thomas had borne with minimal grumbling and teasing James by referring to Dolley and Payne as James's wife and kid), he arrived shortly after breakfast, bearing a foil-covered pan that he stashed in the fridge and said was dinner. It turned out to be some sort of pasta bake that tasted incredible, and Thomas was appreciating it a lot, but he had a feeling he would've appreciated it even more if he'd imposed a texting embargo before they'd started dinner.

"Patsy, I'm sure whoever you're texting can wait," Thomas said.

"Just a second," Patsy said. "I'm texting my roommate. To ask her about an assignment."

"An assignment," Thomas repeated.

She put her phone away but didn't look up. Might've been because she didn't want him to see her blushing. "We're not talking about this," she muttered.

"Well, well," Thomas said. "When do I get to meet her?"

She rolled her eyes. "Uh, _never_? Knowing you, you'd probably try to scare her off."

"Now that's unfair," Thomas said. "I was very nice to that one boy you were seeing in junior year."

"You asked him what his thoughts are on states' rights versus federal government. He almost cried."

James chuckled quietly.

"Why did you even date a boy who didn't have an informed opinion on the matter?" Thomas asked.

"Because I couldn't date a girl at the time."

Thomas shrugged. "Fair enough."

"That was a bit callous of you, Thomas," James said. "How would you feel if Patsy had tried to scare me off by asking me about my thoughts on that matter?"

"Because that'd be _such_ a tough question for you to answer, Mr Madison," Patsy said.

"Please no," Maria cut in. "I've heard them talking about that about fifty billion times while you were gone. I don't even need to take US Government in high school any more. I know everything about politics. Everything."

She seemed genuinely terrified James would start expounding on the subject over dinner. To be fair, the prospect wasn't all that far-fetched, so Thomas decided his intervention was required in the form of a change of topic.

"Darlin', this is amazing," Thomas said, using his fork to gesture at the pasta. "What type of cheese did you use?"

"Thanks," James said. "It's Camembert."

Thomas looked at him blankly before it sank in. Right. That one time Thomas had expressed his feelings about ersatz Camembert. Apparently James had filed that knowledge away to use it against him.

"You were right," Patsy said to James, smirking in a way that reminded Thomas uncannily of himself. "The look on his face _is_ priceless."

As if it wasn't bad enough that James had served him an abomination against French cuisine, this had been a _conspiracy_. 

"Every single one of you," Thomas said. "Get out of my house. Now."

Maria snorted. "You love us, Dad. _All_ of us."

"Even if you sometimes find us grating," James said.

"James, if that was a goddamn pun, I swear to God you need to _stop—_ "

"Stop milking the subject for all it's worth?" James inquired.

Thomas considered saying something to him in Latin that was unfit for polite society, but then closed his mouth in favour of not sabotaging his own relationship. Still, it took him until the rest of dinner to think he could forgive James for a) feeding him fake Camembert cheese and b) letting him _compliment it_ , Jesus Christ, he might as well hand in his Francophile credentials right now.

They whiled away time until it was getting late and Maria looked like she'd have to go to bed before she fell flat on her face, but before that could happen, Thomas shepherded his three favourite people to sit on the couch and said, "I have something for y'all." And he produced the violin.

"Oh," Patsy said, as Maria yawned and rubbed her eyes.

"Last year around this very time," Thomas said, "I was subjecting folks to frankly godawful music because I hadn't played in a while. Fortunately, I've spent the last year messing with my violin..."

"One might even say fiddling with it," James said. 

Despite being a deist who believed in a non-interventionist creator, Thomas found himself tempted to ask the Lord for patience. He glared at James for that piece of input. "Anyways. I've been practising, and I like to think I can now play something that isn't hideously offensive to the ears, so here goes."

"It'd better not be Jingle Bells," Patsy said.

It wasn't. It was a proper Christmas carol. "Silent Night", to be exact. Thomas let himself really feel the music, playing with his eyes closed. Which was how it took him finishing up and opening his eyes again to realise that James had apparently spent the whole time gazing at him adoringly.

"That," James said, "was much better than the last time I remember."

There he went with the downplaying again. With the way he'd been looking at Thomas, he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all Thomas himself. And, sure enough, James went and betrayed himself: "Is there anything else you can play?"

Thomas, although he suspected this was just another chance for James to stare at him, rose to the occasion and played a rendition of "Let it Snow". Clumsier and less practised than "Silent Night", but he must've been doing something right; he kept his eyes open this time, which was how he knew James couldn't look away. It got bad enough that Patsy noticed. By the time Thomas thought to look over at her, she was covering Maria's eyes while Maria sat there with her hands dutifully folded in her lap, most likely knowing what was going on but going along with it for comedic value.

"So," Thomas said after finishing up. "That's that."

Patsy cleared her throat with such gusto that it sounded more like a coughing fit. "On that note, we'll be going to bed," she said. "C'mon, Maria."

"But we didn't even leave the mac and cheese out for Santa yet,'" Maria protested.

Patsy practically dragged her away.

"Before you ask, no. There is no goddamn mac and cheese for Santa, and I never want to hear another joke about mac and cheese again." Thomas set his violin aside and came to sit by James's side where he belonged. He got himself comfortable, resting his head on James's shoulder against the softness of his ugly Christmas sweater.

"I was afraid to ask," James said. 

"Any reason you were making eyes at me while I was playing a Christmas carol?"

James was silent for a moment. Then: "You know how you feel about me and chess?"

"Ah," Thomas said. "Say no more."

"You seem so at ease when you play now." James brought Thomas's hand up to his lips so he could kiss the back of it gently. 

"No longer being as terrible at it might've had something to do with that," Thomas said.

Even as he spoke the words, he knew that wasn't the only thing that'd changed between then and now. James had been the one to make that comparison all that time ago, and Thomas hadn't kept it at the forefront of his mind, but it seemed apt now. As it turned out, playing the violin and being in love had a lot more in common than Thomas would've thought.

Thomas knew by now when the silences needed to be filled, and he let this one slip on by comfortably until he came upon something to fill it with. A lead-in to what he really wanted to say — and he wasn't going to let himself get anxious about whether this was the right place, the right time. Of course it was. 

"And to think this time last year, I was pining over you like a lovesick teenager," Thomas said.

"We've made it this far," James said, tone bland and casual. But that was all the opportunity Thomas needed.

"We have," Thomas said. "So I was wondering if you could be persuaded to make it a bit further."

He sensed James's silent question, and he shifted himself into position so he could look James in the eye while he asked this. Or said it. Right now, Thomas didn't know if he could handle the uncertainty that came with formulating something like that into a question.

"You've been spending a lot of time here lately," Thomas said. "Even when you're not here, I keep finding your stuff everywhere."

"Is that a good thing?" 

"Sure, darlin', I don't have a problem with _that_ ," Thomas said. "I guess what I do have a problem with is how you're here, but you're not _here_ here. Even now there's times you're away because you're back at your place, since you're obviously not set up to spend extended periods of time here, but." He gestured. "I was thinking I'd like to change that. Because let me tell you, I wouldn't mind if it you were a little closer to home at all times."

James's expression was unreadable. "Thomas, are you asking me to move in?"

"That's about the gist of it," Thomas said. "All I'm saying is...it might be nice to wake up every day with you by my side. As opposed to the current state of things, which is every _other_ day, and which I'm not entirely satisfied with." He sat up even straighter. "I've thought a lot about how this'd work. Obviously I wouldn't want to feel like _you're_ moving into _my_ space, darlin', because like I said, it'd be your home too. We can even get a normal bed. Not that my alcove bed isn't a great idea, but it's really more of a single person arrangement, wouldn't you say?"

"Slow down, Thomas."

Thomas shut his mouth. He'd been about to give his little sales pitch about how he owned the apartment and therefore James would save on rent.

"We can handle all of that later," James said. "For now, you want to know if I'd like to move in. A simple yes or no question."

"And?"

There was a smile in James's voice. "Like you said, it might be nice."

Thomas should've probably felt more elated about that, but he couldn't seem to summon that particular emotion at the moment. Right now, all he felt was contentment. As if James's answer had been a foregone conclusion. 

"If we're really doing this," Thomas said, "we're going to have a truly amazing amount of books."

"And a truly amazing amount of duplicates," James said. "Our tastes run too similar sometimes."

Another comfortable silence.

"Would you look at that," Thomas said, pointing somewhere above James's head. "Imaginary mistletoe."

"You make it sound like we need an excuse."

"Yeah, fuck that." 

It was incredible how natural it was now. There'd been a time when every kiss had been so perfectly deliberate, almost orchestrated. Now they could kiss and it could be soft and sleepy and a little clumsy in the way that only came with practice. Neither particularly caring where their kisses landed, only that there was an embrace and it was warm and secure.

Thomas leaned their foreheads together. "Not that I'm not always brimming with lust for you, darlin', but..."

James made a sound of agreement. So he felt it as much as Thomas did — the reluctance to disturb this slow quiet that had settled between them. "Let's go to bed?"

"Only if you promise I can get a decent amount of Christmas cuddling in before you fall asleep on me."

"No promises."

"James."

"Thomas," he said. "Your idea of 'a decent amount' is usually upwards of an hour."

"So?"

"So I'm already falling asleep," James said. "If I kiss you again, will you stop frowning at me?"

"That's a short-term fix to a larger underlying problem, James. One that stems from my dissatisfaction with your skewed priorities."

James smiled a little. "I never would have expected it, but you might be the cuddliest person I've ever been with."

"Get used to it. That's gonna be every morning and night for the rest of your life now."

"It seems there's a lot I'll have put up with for the rest of my life," James said. He made to get up, but Thomas dragged him back down. "What now?"

"I'm not going anywhere until you say it," Thomas said.

The look on James's face was a little exasperated, a little fond. "I meant to tell you when we were in bed."

"Exactly what I was afraid of. You have this tendency to pass out the moment your head hits the pillow."

James didn't skimp on these things. He settled himself back into place and took Thomas's face in his hands, his large hands cradling Thomas's jaw, and then he leaned in and gave Thomas another kiss, one that, as far as their kisses went, wouldn't have been particularly exciting, but somehow, _somehow_ it still took Thomas's breath away. Passionate, but not a prelude to anything. It stood alone, and it said it all.

"I love you," James said.

"I love you too," Thomas said. What with the fuss he'd made about having it said in this particular instant, it probably should've had more fanfare behind it, as if this time somehow had more weight because Thomas had asked James to move in with him and that was a damn big milestone by any standard, but...

Well. They'd said it a hundred times — a thousand times — and everything just felt familiar, and wonderful, and lasting.

They headed back and got into bed mostly in silence. Thomas's front against James's back, legs loosely tangled under the sheets. For a while, Thomas thought James had fallen asleep, but then James said, "I never thought I'd say this, but I'll miss this bed if we get rid of it."

"Oh, so _now_ you choose to see its virtues."

"I'll miss it out of sentiment," James said. "My thoughts on the design itself haven't changed."

"What's wrong with the design? It's convenient."

"You can connect your study and your bedroom without bringing the bed into it," James said, sounding sleepier than he had five seconds ago. 

"But this is how it's space efficient, James," Thomas said. "As a man of my profession, I find it offends my sensibilities when—"

James slung an arm over Thomas, pulling him closer. "Go to sleep," he said. "Please."

And here Thomas was gearing up for some good healthy debate. But really, even if he wanted to be difficult on purpose, it would've been hard. James wasn't much fun to exasperate when he was half-asleep, and Thomas was more than a little tired too. And so he closed his eyes, settled his hand atop James's, and told himself it could wait until Christmas morning.


End file.
